


Out Of This World

by highxflame



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Magical Realism, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-03-07 08:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18869542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highxflame/pseuds/highxflame
Summary: While on set for Game of Thrones, budding director's assistant Trisha would come to find that the world is not only strange in front of the camera, or out of the text of a book, but at the snow beneath her feet.When lightning strikes, it brings not only it's violent bursts of electricity, but a beast from another world.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> So there are some depictions of violence in this first chapter, but I hope it's not too serious for anyone reading. Mentions of a scuffle and blood, actually there's... Quite a lot of blood, now that I think of it.
> 
> But yeah, that's about it for this chapter, I'm not too sure about the rest of the story as I'm just writing this off a whim that I've been thinking about for quite some time (although, very clearly, not in very much detail so I apologize about that!), but I do sincerely hope that anyone reading this will enjoy it!
> 
> This is also tagged as Sandor/Reader but it does feature an original female character as the protagonist, but it can definitely be used as a self-insert, just for clarification.
> 
> I'd also like to add that I'm just a very average writer, always have been, so any feedback that you have; good or bad, I'd love to hear it. 
> 
> Anyways, again, I hope you enjoy this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lightning streaks and hell breaks loose.

Trisha is a DA on the set of Game of Thrones, a fierce yet small brunette girl with a lot of personality. She's been the director's assistant for almost 5 months and is a cast and staff favorite. Her bubbly attitude and warmth towards others makes it difficult for people to dislike her.

On set, they're currently filming in an outdoor set for a scene where Sandor Clegane and the Brotherhood Without Banners are going through the icy deserts of grey-lit Scotland. The sky suddenly shakes and grumbles, rain pours and cries down with fervor.

Everyone behind the camera stares up to the sky with squinted eyes, hands pressed to their foreheads as they see the clouds begin to swirl with seas of lighting.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap. We'll continue filming tomorrow at dawn."

Everyone hails their agreements to the director and begin to pack up their gear, cameras, stands, rigs and almost in an instant- lightning strikes near the horses which startle them, they rear up, almost knocking the cast of men off their saddles as everyone "woah's" at the sight before them. The lightning beginning to strike down around them, the horses jumping up and down on to their hind legs in fear.

"No time for games, hurry up! Get everything packed, get the minders to the horses and let's get out of here! Trisha-" the director, Bob, yells out to his assistant, "I want you to do the rounds and make sure everyone's safe and packed up, can you do that?"

He knew she was capable of doing it, but the look of fright on her face from the commotion unraveling around them had sprouted a seed of doubt in his mind. "Yes, of course, I'll get right on it, " she assured him as she began to zip up her goose feather jacket, pulling a beanie from out of her pocket, pulling it on to her head before leaving the safety of the hammered down gazebo and into the rain to go around the set.

Stomping around the crunchy snow ladened on the ground, she approached everyone as they were near finishing packing up their gear into their packs and trailers. The riggers, the cameramen, the assistants, the minders were all finished. They all greeted her warmly despite what was happening around them, the sky cracking with thunder and lightning smashing into the ground with unbelievable violence.

Trisha spun away from Bob after informing him that she'd checked on the staff and made sure they were fine, and she glanced around the darkening desert and spotted someone in the ice cold open with heavy fur gear, searching the ground.

She scampered to them, her gloved hands in her pockets and her boots crunching into the ice beneath her feet. "Are you okay?" She asked, her eyes dropping to their leather boot clad feet spinning in circles as they searched the snow.

"Yeah, that bloody horse damn near knocked me on my ass and something fell out of my pocket so I'm just trying to look for it," they responded in a thick Scottish accent, Trisha knew in an instant that it was Rory McCann, the actor for Sandor Clegane.

Trisha licked her cold lips, jumping on the spot to maintain heat, "Well, what was it? I'll help," she said to him but he shook his head.

"It's nothing important, dear, just a locket-"

"A locket seems pretty important, let me help you," Trisha said with a smile and he nodded, walking around slowly with his eyes trained on the ground.

They searched the ground in the plummeting rain for a few minutes but came out with nothing. "Aye, we best get out of here, this rain is shit so I'll just look for it tomorrow, but thank you for your help, Trisha, I appreciate it."

Just then, as she was about to respond, lightning had struck right next to them and she jumped into his arms with a screech. She huffed and puffed with widened eyes and then she laughed.

"Don't worry about it, dude, let's just get out of here, I can't stand this lightning shit anymore," Trisha said to him quickly and he chuckled in agreement. She got out of his arms as quickly as she had jumped into them and began skittering back to the trucks and trailers as fast as she could, desperate to get out of the hold of the cold and into something warm.

Trisha had most definitely left Rory behind, but he was a big guy and was able to handle himself, he didn't need her help to get back to his trailer so she continued to run as quickly and safely through the slippery ice.

Another lightning bolt had struck down behind her and she winced until she heard a loud groan and a thump, she immediately turned to look over her shoulder and her heart stopped. Rory was on the ground and so was something else, something just as large as he was.

Trisha stopped in her path and turned completely to run to where he was- did Rory McCann just get struck by lightning?

"Help! Someone, help!" Trisha screamed out as she ran as quickly as she could towards the large Scotsman lying frozen on the ground. She whipped her head around to see if anyone had heard her and she saw three men looking out to where she was and they were soon coming after her.

She dropped on her knees beside him, he was lying face up and his burn scar makeup was beginning to peel off with burned edges and she then looked beside him to see a lumpy coat of fur and hair peeking out. It was just as large as Rory was and she swore that it was a person, but who on earth could that be? There was no one else out in this open desert with them and in a split second, this thing just appeared to be right next to him.

Rory coughed and groaned, bringing his hand to his head and spluttering in the rain. "Careful now- Quickly, someone, help me! We need to get him out of here!" Trisha screamed out once again and the three men that had heard her call were almost near.

The large Scotsman was beginning to sit up and he looked next to him to see this humanly looking thing and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

The rain was beginning to slow down to a light drizzle and the clouds were coming to a halt as the lightning had seemed to stop.

"What is that?" He murmured and he got to his knees next to Trisha and they shared a look of confusion and surprise.

"I-I don't know, it just... I don't know, are you okay?" she said to him urgently and he nodded, continuing to rub the back of his head. Trisha truly had no idea of what that thing was in front of them and they both reached out their hands to push at the thing lying on the ground.

It groaned and Trisha's heartbeat began to speed up, pulling back her hand as if it had been burnt. She looked back at Rory and his mouth was agape, his chest moving up and down quickly.

The three men that had arrived were assistants that Trisha knew from around the sets of the show and they all knelt down beside Rory and herself, looking at the thing on the ground before them. One assistant had blue hair, another was blonde and the last one had black hair.

"Who is that?" One of them said and it suddenly occurred to both Rory and Trisha that whatever was in front of them was a person, though the draped cloak had made it look like an accumulation of something nasty- the making of a dreary beast.

"We don't know, Rory was just struck by lightning and this thing- this person just... It just appeared right next to him!" Trisha said in a rushed fashion, not entirely believing the words that had just left her mouth at that moment.

"Jesus Christ," one of them muttered and Trisha couldn't agree more. "You sure it's not someone else?" the blonde boy questioned and Trisha rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Of course I'm sure, everyone's in the trucks ready to go, and Rory was out here looking for something but we couldn't find it- There's no one else out here," she explained and they nodded in understanding.

"Let's flip it over then," another assistant quipped and they all looked at each other with unease. "On 3," Rory said and he began to count down as everyone tucked their hands under the fur cloak and on 3, they all used their strength to flip this thing over except it wasn't a thing.

It was a person.

Trisha squealed and leaped back, her eyes wide with disbelief and the others followed her suit, all frightened of what they had just revealed to themselves.

It looked like Rory. Or his twin, it seemed like. It was wearing the exact things he was wearing and he was sporting the same burn scar on his face.

"What the fuck?" Rory roared and he stood to his feet in an instant, "Is this some sort of joke? What is this?" He questioned angrily and then he knelt closer to the person on the ice in front of them.

"I don't know!"

"I can't... I don't know what this is!"

The assistants muttered.

"What on Earth?" Trisha murmured to herself in fear and shock. She was heaving and with uncertainty, she reached out a hand and her gloved finger poked the wet cheek of the person right in front of her.

"Don't!" She heard one of the assistant's protest and as soon as she'd prodded at the flesh of this strange person, they had raised their arm and taken a firm grip on her wrist. Trisha screamed loudly and tried to yank her arm back but it was no use, it pulled her back and she tumbled on top of it- on top of him.

He grunted angrily, and rolled over on top of her and stood to his feet, pulling Trisha up with him. He swiftly pulled the frightened girls back to his chest and he pulled out a dagger from the sheath on his hip, pressing the blade to her throat.

"Oh my God!" Trisha yelped, the three assistants in front of her and Rory were wide-eyed with shock as they looked at the man that had the young girl in his grip.

Rory huffed angrily, "Let her go!" He demanded but the man holding her didn't budge, and neither did the blade to her throat.

"Who are you?" The man holding her had yelled out to the men standing in front of them and he roughly pulled on Trisha's shoulder as they couldn't find the words to say to him.

"W-We're the staff! We're the staff, now tell us who _you_ are?" The blue haired assistant said quickly and loudly, his jaw stuttering. It was either very clear who this man was or it was the nastiest prank in the world, as the blade pressed to her throat didn't very much feel like a prank.

The man holding Trisha in his grip was a carbon copy of Rory, he had the same height, build and voice as Rory and it frightened Trisha to her core, except his accent was different; it was a Northern English accent, whereas Rory’s was Scottish. Rory was a kind, witty gentleman and she never thought that off of the set he would behave like this, it was like the man holding her was Sandor Clegane in real life. If only.

"I'm the Hound," the man behind her seethed, every word dripping with anger.

Trisha, Rory and the assistants were in shock, did they hear what he said correctly? Despite hearing what she heard, it was the last of Trisha's concerns as the blade pressed to her neck was near to piercing her skin.

"Please... Please, just let me go!" Trisha whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Let the lass go," Rory pleaded, his core beginning to grow weary with dread.

"Aye, I'll let the girl go," the Hound said nonchalantly while he pulled the dagger back quickly, throwing Trisha to the ground, her gloved hands trying to halt her icy slide and simultaneously trying to crawl to where Rory and the other men were.

The assistants helped to stand her up and they all backed away as the Hound dropped the dagger and pulled out his sword in one swift motion. Rory's eyebrows furrowed and his instant reaction was to pull out his own sword.

"Stop, please!" Trisha cried out and the Hound twins both looked at her then back at each other.

Rory was breathing intensely, both hands gripped to the handle of his sword and both feet in a defensive stance. "Get back to the trucks!" he yelled out to the four of them and the assistants refused to argue, trying to take Trisha with them as they began to run back to the safety of the people.

Trisha ran with them, "We need to get help!" she shouted to them and they agreed. She ripped off her gloves because her hands had begun to sweat and it made her feel more irritated and upset, she threw them on the ground, trying to run faster.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck _was_ that?!" The blue haired boy screeched, his chest rising up and down quickly.

"I don't know but we need to get help!" Trisha responded, and finally, they had arrived back to the empty set and Bob, the director, was waiting by one of the waiting trucks. Trisha ran to him quickly and grabbed a hold of his shoulders, and before he could question her, she was crying and breathing erratically. "We need to get security, _now_!"

Bob frowned and his grey eyes left her tear-streaked face and gazed out into the icy deserts to see two men sword fighting in the distance. "Fucking hell- Security!" The director shouted out and four men in uniform promptly arrived at his side, "Go out there now and sort that shit out!" he commanded, pointing a finger towards the men fighting on the ice and they nodded, taking their leave and rushing out to the violent scene unfolding out in the cold open.

"Trisha, who is that? Who's out there?" Bob asked his assistant sternly and she sobbed.

"It's Rory and- and the... The-"

"Out with it, Trisha! Who else is out there?" he questioned her with a serious tone in his voice.

"The Hound!" his frightened assistant bellowed, dropping to her arse in the mud and grabbing at her throat.

"He put a knife to my throat, he tried to kill me!"

"Rory?"

"No, you idiot! The fucking Hound!" Trisha screamed, continuing to rub at her neck and she pulled her hand back to see her red stained palms. She squeezed her eyes closed and wept a bit more, spit dribbling down her chin which she wiped with the sleeve of her jacket.

The Hound had lightly sliced her flesh with his rusted dagger and had drawn blood, it’d made her shake with fear.

"They're the same person, Trisha," Bob said to her as he knelt down beside her and she cried once more, "No, they're not!" she insisted.

"You'll see for yourself, " Trisha murmured with a quiet ferocity, her eyes narrowed on Bob and he was taken aback. She looked out once more to the icy deserts but couldn't see properly through her teary eyes.

Trisha sobbed again and grabbed at her throat once more, trying to get a feel of just how large the cut was. "He cut me... He cut me, oh my god, he almost killed me," she whispered to herself between quiet cries, rocking herself back and forth.

Bob reached out to her and took her own hands away from her neck and inspected it closely, his eyes widening at the wide but shallow slice in her skin. "Someone get me a medic, now!" he shouted and someone in the background heard his plea, rushing to find a paramedic and a medkit.

Trisha could hear footsteps behind her and she wiped at her eyes with her sleeves in an attempt to clear her view, she looked behind her to see the security men dragging a very large and very unconscious man.

She crawled back quickly and simpered, "Get him away from me!" she demanded, continuing to pull herself away from the knocked out man in the hands of the security guards.

"It's a'ight, lass, he's in a taser sleep... Mind you, it took two tasers to do the job, but he's out of it for now, " they told her and she stopped her backward crawl, her chest rising and falling quickly at the sight of the unconscious giant.

Rory was limping back to her and he dropped down next to her, heaving loudly and grabbing at his calf. The burn scar make-up was half hanging off his face and he brought his hand up to pull the prosthetic latex off and he sighed roughly. "Am I out of my fucking mind or did I just fight myself?" Rory asked her, wincing and grabbing at his leg where there appeared to be a large gash.

Trisha was still shaken up and couldn't find the words or the heart to respond to him, so she meekly shook her head. The guards dropped the Hound and flipped him over so he was face up, then they placed his hands in cuffs. Bob was wide-eyed as he leaned down to inspect his face, his hands hovering over the burn scar of his face and gently touching it.

"What in the world-" he began to say, squinting at the edges of the scar on the Hound's face. A paramedic arrived and ignored the director and the guards with their comatose assailant, going straight to Trisha and Rory perched up next to each other on the ground.

The paramedic was a kind, middle-aged woman and was gentle in taking care of them both, though Trisha insisted on the woman tending to Rory's more serious injury, Rory refused, wanting Trisha to be treated first.

It was a tough and short battle of the niceties but Rory won, Trisha tilting her head up to have her wound cleaned and bandaged as quickly as possible so Rory could have the wound on his calf treated. Rory pulled up his pants leg and he hissed as he did so, there was a large cut down his right calf. "That mad fucker almost cut my leg off, " Rory muttered to Trisha and she gulped, her eyes falling to the unconscious man on the muddy ground near her.

Bob was prodding at the supposed burn scar on the face of the man beneath him, trying to pull the scar away but nothing happened. The tips of his fingers tried to rub at the edges of the scar where he was expecting a flap of latex to pull up but still, nothing happened. Bob left the Hound's side and came to sit next to Trisha and Rory, the Scotsman still having his wound tended to.

"That's... That's the Hound, " Bob said to himself mostly, but Trisha heard him and was suddenly filled with anger. "Yeah, no shit, that's the Hound," Trisha said meanly, then she clapped a hand to her mouth when she’d realized what she had just said to her boss.

"I-I'm, oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm just shaken up-" she tried to explain herself but Bob just raised his hand. "Trisha, it's fine, don't worry about it. I understand, " he assured her.

"Oh my God, and I called you an idiot! And I swore at you, I’m sorr-" she continued to speak in a rush, her shoulders trembling.

"Trisha, calm down. I understand, there’s no need to apologize," Bob spoke softly, but she continued anyway.

"Jesus, I even swore at you earlier! I truly didn't mean _any_ of that, just please, please forgive me-" Bob placed his hands on her biceps and kindly looked her in the eyes, her shoulders slowly dropped and she sighed, "I'm just so confused right now, I don't know what's happening."

"Yeah, neither do I," Bob said, putting his hands down and they both sighed and looked at the man lying in the mud only meters away.

"Garr!!! Cocksucking fanny, shit!" Rory grumbled out quickly with his eyes squeezed shut as the paramedic sanitized his wound. Trisha and Bob looked on sympathetically, a frown falling over their faces.

The grey-haired director breathed through his nose, a hand swiping over his chin. "He can't be real."

Trisha hung her head low and could feel the sting of the cut on her neck, "He feels real," she said quietly, "Everything he did to us was real. He is flesh and bone, he is a work of fiction come to life and he almost killed us. He's not a real person but he's... He's real, somehow, and he's here with us now."

A moment of silence passed over them, each of them trying to fathom what had just happened and Trisha slowly went over the details that occurred from the moment she went out to help Rory find his locket to the moment she came rushing to the director for help, with Rory's confirmations being raised every minute or two. Bob listened tentatively, trying to picture the events in his mind but there was still no possible way he could figure out as to how this carbon copy of Rory, this carbon copy of The Hound, had found its way out to them in the outbacks of Scotland.

"Maybe it's the work of the God of Thunder, Taranis." Rory randomly quipped up.

"And why would the Celtic God of Thunder want to strike you with lightning and bring a fictional character to life?" Bob questioned Rory with furrowed brows, his grey eyes still planted on the very unconscious Hound.

Rory shrugged and scratched his beard "the Gods are always such mysterious folk, don't you think?"

Trisha pursed her lips, her legs pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, "Mysterious butt-faces." she said mostly to herself but she heard Rory chuckle.

"Right you are, girl," he spoke softly, patting at the tourniquet wrapped around his calf.

"I think we have to call George," Trisha said, the thought suddenly coming to her mind.

"George? Which one?" Bob asked her, his view finally turning to her.

" _The_ George," Trisha said, "Sandor is practically his child if you think about it," she said to her boss, and she also realized that she had just called this fictional character by his real name. If the real name technically is real, seeing as he's not a real person.

"Oh shit, yeah, you're right," Bob said with wide eyes, quickly getting to his feet.

"I'm getting my phone, stay put!" he said to Trisha and Rory.

Trisha scanned the area around her and realized that most of the trailers and trucks had left, they'd most likely gone back to the hotel where everyone was having a drink at the warm bar with the connected jazz lounge. The small girl could feel her heart longing for that warmth, but she knew she had to stay here to figure out just what the fuck had happened out here in the outbacks of grey-lit Scotland.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Trisha and Bob to discuss what happens to The Hound and for them to come to a realistic understanding of the nature of his arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> Er, I'm not sure if this is as long as the first chapter but my mind is just rushing with ideas and I'm just trying to get them down as fast as I can. I'm trying to develop this story from a realistic standpoint, which is also my weakness because I love me some magical realism and AU elements which is difficult to write from a realistic point of view, but I'm sure the execution of it all makes for a more interesting story.
> 
> I should also add that I'm not exactly keeping track of relativity so I'm not exactly sure who the real director is of these certain episodes, how any of these people (actors/actresses/GoT staff) behave in real life, the reality of the things that would go down in an event like this, etc.
> 
> But that's just me, I'm an overthinking God.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

"The craziest thing just happened!" Trisha heard Bob shouting in his trailer, and she scrunched her face with disdain. She'd almost wished he wasn't so loud, but as long as the message was getting across to _the_ George R.R Martin then that's all that mattered.

Rory had since gotten up and went back to his own trailer because he, and Trisha remembers this vividly, _"doesn't get paid to have his arse sat in the mud for half an hour."_ she snorted at his wise statement and let him take his leave.

The security guards, on the other hand, had decided upon themselves to have a pair of them on watch and the other pair on call as they surveilled the areas around the emptied set. When Trisha saw two of the armed security guards leave, she felt a lot less safe even though her attacker was still unconscious and lying on the ground with his hands cuffed. She was on the brink of believing that he would still be dangerous, even in that state.

The things she'd heard about The Hound- Sandor, the things she had seen and read, he appeared to be an absolute beast of a man with no regard for anyone but himself or the person he had chosen to protect at that time. It was very clear to her that she was most definitely  _not_ someone he had chosen to protect, the sting from the cut on her throat had confirmed that.

Trisha whipped her head around behind her when she'd heard the director's trailer door open and he was in the midst of bidding his farewells, "Was that George?" she asked him and he nodded, putting his phone in his back pocket.

"Yeah, he said he'd be here tomorrow," her boss said to her, coming back over to sit next to her.

"And what'd he say about... The Hound?" Trisha questioned him and he sighed, "He doesn't believe me but I told him that if it wasn't real, that it was a prank and that I was lying- that I would stop filming the episodes I'm enlisted for and have Dan and David find another director."

"Ah, yes... Well, that's a big deal, y'know? George is bound to believe you, putting your job on the line for a prank isn't exactly what I think he'd expect, especially over something that sounds as ridiculous as this." Trisha said to him and Bob nodded.

"I agree," he said, "But now that we have to wait for tomorrow... What do you think we should do with him?" 

Trisha furrowed her brows and turned to him, "Personally, I'd like to have him thrown in the sea and have him carried out for the seagulls to peck at, but... God, I don't even know." she sighed deeply and pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling the intense throbbing of a headache from all the stress she was put under in the past hour.

"How do we even take him anywhere? Do we take him back to the hotel? Like, what do we do?" Trisha said, clenching her jaw at the thought of having part of the responsibility of taking care of this violent fictional character. 

"I haven't a clue about harboring a non-existent yet existing fugitive," Bob said with a light laugh, eventually letting out a frustrated groan. Trisha could feel that on a spiritual level.

"Is this what a midlife crisis feels like?" Trisha asked with a snort, and Bob turned to her with a grin.

"A bit, yeah," he said and they both got up together, devising a plan to smuggle the oaf of a man into the hotel.

Trisha stepped towards to The Hound, inching closer and hovering one of her feet to his shoulder and kicking him lightly. No reaction. She let out a shaky sigh and nodded to the security guards who had all come to surround the beast of a man to help her carry him to the closest trailer, which happened to be Bob's one.

Lucky him, she thought. With a great deal of effort, they hauled The Hound into Bob's trailer and grabbed some rope from their security cars to secure him to a chair and all but one of them left to take their cars back to the hotel, leaving you and Bob in the trailer and his driver in the front who hadn't a care in the world for the things that occurred in the living department of the trailer.

"What do we even tell the people who saw him? Tell them not to speak a word of it or..." Trisha asked Bob and he brought a hand to the back of his neck with a deep exhale through his nose. "Whether he disappears tomorrow or not, they saw what they saw and we won't be able to stop them from babbling to anyone about what happened."

"Couldn't we at least ask them not to talk about it?" She questioned the director. Trisha knew that if asked of him, Rory wouldn't speak a word of what happened today but Bob was right, it was impossible to keep this under wraps, but in terms of the guards and the assistants...

"Well they all have a line of confidentiality in their contracts, so they'll only be able to talk about what happened without explicit permission," Bob said and Trisha nodded.

"But what's to stop them from talking about it with everyone from the set?"

"Nothing we can do about that, really. I'll ask them not to talk about it until we get word from George tomorrow but until then... I guess we'll just have to wait."

They both turned to look at the sleeping Sandor tied up in his chair in the back of his trailer, a guard at his side with a taser in hand. The guard looked up to them, "Better safe than sorry," he said with a tight smile and Trisha smirked. "Safer than sorry indeed."

Trisha left them both to go to Rory's trailer after seeing their vehicle take leave to the hotel, knocking on his trailer door which opened almost immediately and stepping to the side to let her in. "How's the leg?" she asked him and he chuckled, "Never better" he responded.

She took a seat on the couch of his trailer and brought her legs up to her chest, hugging them to her for warmth and she exhaled, "Bob called George." 

"And what'd he have to say?" Rory asked her, rummaging through his bag at the other end of the trailer.

"He said he'll be here tomorrow to take a look for himself. Bob put his job on the line to prove that it wasn't a joke," she said to him and Rory turned to her and propped his leg up on a chair, pulling his pant leg up and softly patting his bandage, "If this is a joke, I'll quit in a fucking heartbeat." he said with a growl that almost stopped her heart in her chest.

He saw the mild expression of fright on her face and he pulled his pant leg down, taking his leg off the chair and sighing. "My apologies, I didn't mean to come off like a grumpy asshole, I'm just a bit out of it at the moment," he spoke harshly, waving his hands around.

Trisha got up from her seat and placed a hand on his tense shoulder, "Rory, you were struck by lightning and then the Celtic God of Thunder, or whatever it was, decided to bring The Hound out of you, you don't have to apologize for anything," she said to him softly and he hung his head low. 

"It's quite surreal, you know? He looks and sounds just like me, it's bloody crazy, I'll tell you that much."

"Yeah, I can't imagine what this is like for you. I do, however, wonder if you'll do anything for him, seeing as he's practically your twin." Trisha said with her lips pressed tightly together, leaning against a bench and waiting for his response.

"The only thing I want to do with him, is chuck him in the ocean while he's still sleeping, and let the birds peck at him." He said with disdain, and Trisha giggled in her throat. "It's funny you say that because I said the exact same thing to Bob." 

Rory grinned and his chest rumbled with a chuckle, "Of course you did, look what he did to you," he said, raising his hand and gently tucking it under her chin to see the bandage on her neck. Trisha rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away, her view falling to his leg. "I admit that it was the most terrifying moment of my life," Trisha said, "but you almost had your leg cut off so you outrank me in terms of damage via Hound."

Rory hummed in agreement, lightly punching her in the arm. "If it comes to it, we'll dump him in the ocean together."

The young girl laughed and hugged him hastily before leaving his trailer, going to her own trailer, well it was a trailer where all the assistants congregated, where she was sure the other assistants were piled up and gossiping about the events that occurred earlier.

She knocked on the door and it was opened up very quickly by the blue-haired assistant. Trish pushed past him and sat down on the only free chair they had left, propping her legs up on the table and pulling her packet of cigarettes from her pocket. "You came  _inside_ just to smoke?" the blonde assistant quipped- Lord, she thought, she  _really_ needed to learn their names and quickly because recalling them by their hair color was becoming tedious, Trisha only huffed and dug her hand around in her pocket for her lighter.

"I almost died so I'm just going to do what I please for the next few hours as I just realized how futile my life is right now, and smoking in this trailer wouldn't make that big of a difference on your life," she said, tucking a cigarette between her teeth and lighting it before cracking open the small window next to her, "Besides, I just want to know what you were all talking about before I got in here. Come on, now, give me the hot goss... The deets and whatnot- whatever, just tell me."

The blue-haired one eyed her carefully before clearing his throat, "Well, we were just bouncing some theories off each other, we think it's a plastic surgeon who drugged and manipulated someone into behaving like the fictional character, The Hound." Trisha narrowed her eyes at him, blowing the smoke out towards the window.

"And how do you think some crazy surgeon managed to get said drugged person out to this icy shithole where there is security lurking around almost every edge of the perimeter where the camera isn't pointed?" Trisha said in a matter-of-fact fashion, which made them raise their eyebrows and look at each other for help.

The black-haired one just scratched the back of his head, "We're still bouncing those theories off each other, we haven't found a good one to delve into yet."

The young girl pursed her lips, taking a drag of the cigarette and she decided to discuss the events of what happened in detail since they're the only ones who seemed to actually care about how any of this could have possibly gone down. She told them about how she had gone out there to help Rory find the locket, how they decided to leave it behind and get back to their trailers, how she was looking back at Rory as she was ahead of him, of how she turned her head for a moment to look at the trucks and trailers for a second, how she looked back and Rory was unconscious on the ice with The Hound next to him.

They gave all their attention to her as she spoke in detail of what happened, just as she had with Bob and Rory himself, and the nodded as they listened to her. 

"And that's when you guys came in. So, what do you guys think?" Trisha asked the curiously, sitting back in her chair and going back to take a drag of her cigarette once again and blowing the smoke out the small crack of the trailer.

"Maybe it was Taranis, God of Thunder." The blonde one suggested, his eyebrows raised and looking at the others for their reactions.

Trisha snorted, "Why do all you Scotsman believe it's the Celtic God of Thunder?" she said and the blonde boy shrugged, the black-haired boy and blue-haired boy sporting confused looks on their faces.

"Don't say some shit about how the Gods are mysterious folk either, genuinely tell me what any God would have to say in regards to a fictional character's life? Because I need you guys to understand this- this isn't a movie, this isn't a fairytale, this is  _real life_. This is a book character that was adopted into a television show and now this character has been brought to life. This character is practically a replica oh his television counterpart, and I just want to know why and how you think this could've occurred. And I'll remind you that just because this all happened because of a bolt of lightning, it doesn't mean it is the result of meddling by chance of a Celtic God." Trisha ranted quickly, not really understanding where she was going but she felt all this built up frustration just leave her body and out her mouth. 

Trisha always knew that she was the type of person to need reassurance and anything absolute, it comforted her to know the process and reasoning behind things, so anyone could understand why all this pent up annoyance was present in her at such an exuberant rate at this moment in time. She needed confirmation, she needed an explanation for why this thing happened and it vexed her that there was no easy way, or possibly  _no way_ , to have clarification on this.

The assistants glanced at each other before looking back at her while she was blowing smoke out the window and the blue-haired one spoke up, "Crazy Surgeon, Celtic Gods or not, there isn't an easy answer for something of this nature. Something so strange... It's just not something we could even begin to interpret."

Trisha hummed in agreement, flicking her cigarette butt out the small crack of the window and sighing sadly. Trisha has started smoking when she was 18, having become hooked after smoking with her crush at a party, and then she quit when she was 20 and now she's 22, having started smoking again due to the stress of her schoolwork, her job and now, The Hound.

"I just want him gone," Trisha said, twiddling with her thumbs in her lap.

"I'm sure you do, that thing almost killed you," the black-haired boy spoke up with concerned eyes.

"I only want to repay the favor..." she said ominously, glancing back up to the boys gathered around her, all of them giving her a wide-eyed stare.

The young girl laughed and waved her hand, "I don't want to kill him but I certainly don't want him around me anymore," the blonde boy chuckled and patted her on the shoulder, "We need to hang out more often." he said to her and she gave him a nod with a wide grin

"Alright then, let's get out of here. I want to get a drink," she said to them and one of them scurried off to tell the driver that they were ready to go to the hotel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trisha seeks Bob to see what he has planned for The Hound until George R.R Martin arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> Right, so I think I'll have to elaborate further just to get this message across; things may not be canonically correct either in real life or in the series, so I do apologize about that and I will try to keep it as true to the series as I can to the best of my ability.

Trisha leaves the trailer once she and her fellow assistants arrive at the hotel's back entrance, leaving them behind to find Rory or Bob to get updated on the situation with The Hound. She felt it in her heart that she had to know where he was at all times just to feel that sense of safety and comfort, to be able to protect herself in advance if he had any ideas of snapping again and attempting to kill her or bet her life a ransom of some sort.

She gulped and entered through the back entrance of the hotel, swinging the door open and finding her way to the jazz lounge where she knew most of the staff would be, trying to warm themselves up by the fire or by an inch of gin, encompassed in the atmosphere of hearty laughter and loud conversations, she yearned for it but it would have to be something she would have to wait for. Trisha needed to find Bob.

Poking her head around the large totem poles at the entrance to the jazz lounge, she scanned the area to look for any sign of Bob or Rory, yet she could already see the three assistants finding themselves at home at the only vacant table in the bar area. The young girl rolled her eyes at this and continued to look around and she could see a large man hunched over at the bar, sitting with a much shorter person, a normal sized person is what anyone else would say. She recognized that it was Rory and she let out a sigh of relief, finding her feet carrying her towards him.

She sat on his right side as the left was occupied by none other than Richard Dormer, who plays one of her favorite characters on the show; Beric Dondarrion and is coincidentally one of her favorite people on set to work with, even though that may only be behind the camera. "Hey Rory, hey Rich," Trisha greeted them warmly, reaching her hand in front of Rory to shake Richard's hand.

"Hey, sweet one, where've you been?" Richard asked her and she took a deep breath, shaking her head and letting a light laugh leave her chest, "It's been... An unbelievably draining day on set, you wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, you mean the thing with that Hound fellow?" the shorter gentleman said in a nonchalant manner and Trisha's eyes widened immediately, "You know about that? How- what, how?!" Trisha exclaimed, desperate for an answer.

Rory coughed, pounding his chest with a fist and he spoke up for the first time since she'd sat down beside him, "Well he woke up again and a lot of us had to help security to get him back to sleep again."

Trisha's heart raced at the mere thought of having to be in his wakened presence, how Sandor would've been absolutely filled with rage and being at the brink of breaking out of his binds, Rory saw the fear in her face and gently placed his much larger hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing to worry about now, he's in a room with plenty of folks to watch over him." 

The young girl couldn't help but have her mind drift to the worst scenarios, ones where he'd creep up to her in her sleep and smother her, where he'd plunge a dagger into her chest, killing her in front of her loved ones... They were terrifying thoughts to have but she knew the more plausible scenarios that could occur, scenarios where he'd disappear just as quickly as he'd appeared or where he'd meet with George and come to a logical understanding of how he would have to behave in this current society; which was, needless to say, in the beautifully non-violent way. That was a pleasing thought to her.

"Does everyone know about him now?" Trisha asked them both, "I mean, it's the most insane thing that people would have to see it just to believe it."

"Everyone in this lounge has seen it," Richard said to her with a tight smile, gesturing his hand around to all the workers and staff on the set that were behind them on their seats and couches, sharing their stories and jokes and bellowing with laughter, "And Gregory over there felt it," he continued to say, nodding his head to a middle-aged gentleman in the corner which she recognized as the director of photography who had a large band-aid on his forehead.

"Jesus Christ," Trisha murmured, noticing that there was a rather large bump under his wrap, "What happened?" she asked curiously, turning her attention back to Richard and Rory.

Richard took a sip of his whiskey, "Well that beast of a man woke up while they were taking him out of the big boss's trailer and Gregory was one of the first people outside to help and Sandor gave him a quick butt in the head."

The large Scotsman had taken it upon himself to order Trisha a gin and tonic on the rocks, which she thanked him for, and she nearly gulped the glass in one go which caused the man next to her to chuckle. "Take it easy there, Trish," he said to her without looking at her, his view concentrated on the bottles stacked upon the backlit shelves. "We nearly died, so..." Trisha said to him with raised eyebrows and Rory couldn't help but to nod in agreement with a small grin, then they both took a sip from the remainders of their drinks at the same time, slamming their cups back down on the bar bench and beckoning the server for a refill.

"Tell me, Richard, what do you think about all this? Did Rory fill you in on all the details?" Trisha asked the younger of the duo and he hissed as he put his glass back on the bar bench, "Yeah, he told me about the whole thing. I'm not really sure what to make of it all, it's such a strange thing, you know?"

Trisha gave him a small smile and raised her own glass in agreement before taking a sip of her newly filled glass of spirits, she still couldn't wrap her head around the whole situation with Sandor. The Hound. She couldn't even decide what to call him, because The Hound implies that he's a person with based animal instinct and Sandor gives him a sense of humanity, which she hadn't experienced from him at all yet it was who he was, but his animal instincts still outranked his personality.

Her preferences on his title weren't the only thing on her mind as she was on her way to the hotel in the assistant's trailer, her thoughts swimming with theory after theory after theory, trying desperately to find an answer to something that couldn't possibly have an answer. It still annoyed her, it annoyed her deeply and it pained her to not be able to find a resolve. The young girl sipped from her drink again, her eyes wandering around the lounge and her ears picking up the light tune of saxophone coming from the speakers littered around the corners of the room.

"I'm tempted to gather everyone around to see what their thoughts are about this but I'm only looking for a logical answer, which I know that is not that easy, but if I hear another person say it's a drugged maniac dressed up like The Hound or that it's the power of a Celtic God, I'll just jump off a cliff quicker than you can say 'Game of Thrones'," Trisha said to them both and they snorted, Richard slapping his knee and shaking his head.

The youngest of the three of them downed her drink and placed it on the bar bench, hopping out of her stool and straightening out her clothes, "Any idea where Bob is lurking?" she asked them and Rory lifted his head, "He's in The Hound's room, room 234," the large Scotsman said to her and she thanked him by patting his back and giving Richard a hasty hug before leaving to find The Hound's room.

It's suddenly occurred to Trisha that The Hound's room was close to hers, her room was 237, which made her gulp but she shook off the dreadful feeling of fear crawling up her spine and made her way to the floor where her room was. 

In the elevator, the young girl was joined by one of the assistants, the blonde haired boy, who was holding a glass of wine. She silently pressed her floor button and the elevator quickly hummed to life. She saw that he hadn't made a move to press a button so she thought that he'd be on the same floor as her, the elevator arrived at her destination and she exited with the blonde assistant walking by her side.

"What's your name, by the way? I've forgotten ask," Trisha said as they exited the elevator together, "Kevin," he said to her with a kind smile and she nodded, "I'm Trisha."

He took his free hand and held it out for her to shake, which she did, and they continued to walk together side by side. "Are you on this floor as well?" she asked him and he shook his head, "Lords, no, Bob just asked me for a glass of wine so I'm just, yeah, going ahead to deliver that."

Trisha furrowed her brows in confusion, Bob didn't drink alcohol. So that must mean it wasn't for him.

"I'm going to see him as well," she told him and soon they arrived at room 237, The Hound's room, together. 

She knocked on the door and one of the security guards opened it, she recognized him as the guard that was left with Bob and The Hound in the director's trailer and he let her in quickly, with Kevin in tow. Her eyes immediately went to The Hound on the clean bed in his heavy layers of fur, his hands cuffed and resting on his stomach, her breath catching in her throat after examining him and seeing just how peaceful he looked without the scowl he wore on his face while he was conscious and aware. "Here you go, sir, your wine," Kevin said to Bob, handing him the glass of wine and taking an awkward bow before leaving.

"Strange kid..." Bob said as he looked at the space that Kevin had just left.

"Strange indeed," Trisha said, finding herself in the seat farthest away from the bed that The Hound rested in, "Not as strange as seeing you with a cup of wine," she said to her boss with a perched eyebrow, he stepped towards the nightstand and placed the glass on top, "It's not for me."

It dawned on her that it was meant for The Hound.

"I heard about the scuffle that happened when you guys arrived," his young assistant said aloud to her boss, "heard he did quite a lot of damage in regards to a certain director of photography's face." 

Bob snickered at the way she put those words together, "Yes, that was quite the anomaly."

"So we're just going to keep him subdued until George comes tomorrow, is that your plan?" Trisha turned to look at him still standing by the sleeping Hound.

"I fear that he may die if we taser him any further, and I'm actually quite surprised he isn't dead already from the amount of electricity that's been passed through his body, so we'll just have to give him wine and food instead to keep him calm until George's arrival," Bob informed her and she inhaled deeply at his words, "Do you think he'll wake soon?" she asked him and he shrugged.

"No clue," he said to her honestly and she could only let her eyes drift back to The Hound's layered furs, "I was actually just about to go to bed and leave the big man with these lovely lads here," Bob raised his hands to gesture to all five security guards standing around the relatively large room. 

Trisha thought that she too should go to bed, especially after the long day that she'd been through, yet she felt like she wouldn't be able to sleep a wink tonight. "I think I'll stay in here just a bit longer."

"You sure?" her boss asked her with a hint of concern in his tone, "Yeah, I'll be out of here soon, don't worry."

He paused for a moment and nodded before leaving, the door shutting behind him and letting a veil of silence fall over the room. It was undeniably awkward, the silence, and the stoic men standing around the room seemed to have their focus either on a blank wall or on The Hound himself.

Trisha had a thumb pressed to her lips, her eyes furrowed in concentration as her mind went back into over-thinking mode. Would The Hound really accept food and wine in exchange for peace? Even with cuffs on, is he able to kill every man in this room, including herself? How would he adjust to modern society? How would the authorities handle this? Would they have killed him? Put him through a series of tests? What if voodoo was the reason he was brought here? Could it  _really_ just be a drug-fuelled maniac? 

That last thought made Trisha scowl at herself.

Perhaps it really was the work of a Celtic God. Taranis.

That made her scowl even more and she groaned outwardly to herself in frustration. She rested her elbows on her knees and placed her face in her palms, the feeling of annoyance and displeasure still heavily present in her chest. Taking her head out of her hands, she tucked her legs beneath her and placed an arm on the armrest, placing her chin in her hand, she trained her eyes on The Hound; watching every movement he made.

She examined how his chest rose and fell beneath all his layers, how the burn scar on his face glistened in the pale light of the moon that peaked through the curtains, the large hands that slept in loose fists and then her gaze found its stop at his face. So tranquil. His mouth slightly agape as he slept quietly, chest rising and falling. His body was large and muscled and thought it didn't seem possible, he appeared to be much larger than his life-like counterpart, Rory.

Her body seemed to echo his, her eyes starting to droop and her mind becoming clear of Hound burdened musings, her hand slipped from under her chair which caused her head to drop abruptly and she whipped her head back up and blinked herself back to consciousness but that didn't take her tiredness away at all. She folded her arms on the armrest and lay her head down without thinking.

Soon, Trisha was awoken by a very loud shout, she sat up immediately to see what was happening and she saw two guards on top of the very conscious Hound trying to wrestle him down to the bed.

"You'll die a quick death once I get out of these chains, you  _cunts_." The Hound spat. Trisha jumped out of her chair and backed herself into a corner, watching as The Hound sat up at an astounding speed, knocking one of the guards on his back. Quickly looking around the room, she realized it was only the two of them here with her and The Hound, the rest of the guards were nowhere in sight.

The security quickly got up and went back to help his colleague to restrain the large man, and Trisha's eyes fell to the taser that had fallen out of his back pocket. The Hound managed to shake the guards off, both of them falling to the ground and groaning in pain. Trisha quickly made a run for the taser and jumped on The Hound who fell back on the bed and she straddled his waist, pressing the taser to his neck and holding the trigger for a few seconds, feeling him shake beneath her and seeing him clench his jaw as he was electrocuted. She let go of the trigger and tossed the taser beside his head on the bed, The Hound lay still beneath her, his eyes closed, his neck red and his face rid of a scowl.

The young girl heaved and almost collapsed on top of him, the adrenaline coursing through her body at an alarming rate, she pressed her hands to his chest to steady herself and could feel the strong pound of his heartbeat, she couldn't find the strength to get off of him at that moment, though she was aware of how provocative it looked. 

The door to the room opened up and she turned to see who had arrived, it was Bob and the rest of the security guards. Bob was wide-eyed as he spotted his assistant on top of The Hound, and it was at that moment that his eyes fell to the two security guards on the floor still moaning and grabbing at the sorest parts on their bodies. Trisha let herself fall off The Hound and lay beside his unconscious form, her breathing erratic and uneven.

Bob rushed to Trisha and the other security guards turned to check on their colleagues and The Hound himself, "Are you okay? What happened?" Bob asked the young girl with concern laced in his voice.

"He... He woke up again," Trisha managed to say, trying to steady her breathing and mentally attempting to slow her heart rate down, "I had to taser him."

Bob turned to look at the large man next to her and he saw that he was out like a light, "I thought you said you were leaving," Bob said to her, trying to lighten the mood. "I was, but then I just fell asleep and luckily I did that here because there's no saying what could've happened if I wasn't here to taser this big asshole back into hibernation," Trisha said with a light chuckle.

Bob gave her a small grin and turned to the security guards. "So, what happened _before_ she tasered him?" he asked them and one of the guards that were present during the attack stepped forward, trying to simultaneously soothe his aching thigh and walk, "We tried to offer him the food and wine, as you suggested, then he just jumped up and tried to attack," the guard attempted to say professionally yet there was an occasional hiss of pain while he talked.

"Thank you for doing your best, guys, I know this isn't an easy job but we appreciate all that you're trying to help us with," Bob said to them and they only gave a curt nod in return, resuming their duties.

"How about I take you to your room and we can let the rest of them deal with him, and I'll come and get you when George arrives."

"When's he gonna be here?" 

"In a few hours, but until then; you need to sleep, in a bed and not a chair," Bob told her sternly and she didn't have the energy to agree or disagree with him so she grabbed the hand that he had offered to her and she looked back at The Hound's peaceful form one last time before she trudged out of the room in front of Bob.

With the adrenaline slowly leaving her body, Trisha could feel the throbbing and aching in her neck from the awkward form she had in her sleep. It sounded ridiculous, but Trisha felt the weight of sleep pressing on her and she wanted nothing more than to fall on her own bed with her door locked.

Trisha grabbed Bob by the shoulders before entering her own room, "Don't forget to get me when the George gets here," she said to him, "I need to be there."

Her boss only gave her a tight smile and patted her on the arm. "Wouldn't dream of forgetting it, now go and rest," he told her and she needn't argue.

She went into her room and locked her door (checking thrice to see if she'd really done the job right) and she immediately fell on her bed, quickly putting her phone on charge and letting sleep take over.

_"Tell me, dove," she heard a voice whisper into her ear, "Do you want to kill me?" it asked her and she slowly opened her eyes to find herself in a white desert. It was cold, the wind whipping by her hair and snow slowly falling around her. The young girl could feel that she was in a thick, floor-length dress with the sleeves that stretched down to graze the icy ground. She felt a warm weight on her stomach and looked down to see large hands holding her in place, scarred but clean. She gulped and looked behind her to see The Hound's face looking down at her._

_She expected her heart to race, for her stomach to drop and the urge to push him away but she felt an unbelievable sense of comfort and safety in his arms. When he was as peaceful right now as he seemed to be when he was sleeping, she wanted to lean into him and close her eyes to rest and revel in the warmth he provided._

_The words that left her lips surprised even her, she felt like she didn't have any control of what she had to say, "No."_

_He hummed in her ear and brought her impossibly closer to him, resting his head on her shoulder and beginning to sway them in the snow. "I thought you'd say that," he said to her calmly and she shut her eyes with a small smile creeping on to her face._

Trisha woke up in a hot sweat, gasping for air and grasping at her clothes. She unzipped her jacket and took off her shirt and jeans, throwing the damp clothes to the floor in a flurry. Pressing a clammy hand to her forehead, she wiped back her sweaty hair from her face and tried to collect herself. She looked up to see a mirror on the wall, tall and edged with swirled gold, she stepped closer to it and the faded light through the curtains illuminated all of who she truly was behind closed doors.

Her skin glistened from her sleeping sweat and her dark brown hair was sticking up in all kinds of directions, her chest rising and falling quickly, she keenly spotted dried dribble on her chin and licked her thumb to clean it off, her neck still covered with the bandage that the paramedic had swiftly plastered on her which was now peeling away at the edges thanks to her natural moisture, her breasts almost falling out of her bra and her panties askew. Trisha tried to clean herself as best she could, taking her hair out and tying it up in a messy bun, putting her breasts back into place in her brassiere and pulling her panties back into place, she glanced at herself once more. Her eyes fell to her stomach where her mind immediately flashed back to how the kind and gentle Hound had placed his cleansed but scarred hands on her body and she shivered at the memory and how real it felt.

_"Do you want to kill me?"_

Right now, in her conscious state, she would've narrowed her eyes at him and told him, "Yes, and I'd do it a thousand times."

They say that drunk words are sober thoughts, so what does that make a nightmarish dream? Does it make it the exertion of a wishful heart? She thought _that_ wasn't true, why would she wish to be held in The Hound's arms? Trisha groaned at herself for the ridiculousness that she was subconsciously applying to herself and tried to shake away the unanswered, nagging questions inching into her mind.

Putting on a large t-shirt and tying the look together with a belt, she made an impromptu dress and put on some socks and fluffy slides and opened her curtains to let the evening sky beam into her messy room. Hearing a knock at the door, she quickly turned to peek through the peephole and saw none other than her grey-eyed boss, Bob.

She unlocked the door and opened it to a warm greeting, "How'd you sleep?" he asked her and she raised her eyebrows, giving him a tight smile with the thoughts of her dream threatening to crawl into her mind once again, "Great! Never better," she said to him and to anyone else it would look like an obvious lie but it was clear he head something else on his mind so he didn't really notice.

"That's great, I came to get you, like I promised, because the big man himself has finally arrived and he's on his way up."

 _Oh shit,_ she thought to herself,  _he's here_.

"He's here," Trisha said aloud, a sense of excitement beginning to wrap around her bones and around her heart. What would it be like for this man to meet his own creation? "Good- great! Yes, let's get going then."

Bob nodded and they left together to go to The Hound's room where Rory was already waiting with all 5 security guards still on standby.

They stood there together in silence after greeting each other and Bob looked at his phone to check the time. "He'll be here any second now," he said quietly and as soon as he'd said that, there was a pounding on the door. Rory and Trisha turned to look at each other in surprise and Bob left to open the door.

Opening the door widely, they were greeted by the big man himself,  **George R.R Martin**. Creator of The Hound.

"Hello, there," George said cheerfully. 

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Trisha let out a breath and felt the weight of the world lifting off her shoulders.  _Maybe, just maybe, we might have an answer to this whole thing. Maybe._  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing The Hound to the feet of his creator, Trisha, Rory and Bob wait anxiously to see what unfolds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> And on the topic of being unedited, I think I'll do a proof-reading of it when this story is finished because, haha, priorities am I right?
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

"George, it's great to see you," Bob said to him solemnly, shaking his hand and stepping back.

Bob raised his hand and gestured to Trisha and Rory, "This is my assistant Trisha, and you know Rory," George stepped forward to shake their hands, giving Rory a light slap on the shoulder. "It's nice to meet you, sir," Trisha said curtly, poising herself to make herself look professional

"The pleasure is mine," he smiled warmly, "What happened there?" he said, raising his hand to gesture to the bandage on her neck. She brought her hand up to cover the plaster and gulped at the memory of how the injury occurred. "The Hound cut me, but it's nothing compared to what Rory has on his leg."

Rory rolled his eyes, "Don't you worry yourself about me, Trisha, I'll be fine," he said sternly to the young girl, raising an eyebrow at her and she looked at him with disregard.

"I apologize if I'm being rude, Mr. Martin, but I heavily insist that you look at the man laying on that bed and try to tell us what he is," Trisha said shakily, "I-I know I'm not someone you know, that you may not exactly trust me but I swear on my life that this man..." she swallowed and hung her head low.

"He tried to kill us," she murmured, "he said he was the Hound and... You know him better than anyone, I mean you  _created_ him and I know you didn't bring him here, I know that, but I don't want you to look at him, I  _need_ you to look at him, just, please! Please tell me I'm not crazy," Trisha said with teary eyes, her body beginning to shake and her hands becoming clammy. "Calm down, Trisha," Rory said to her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder but she slapped it away. 

"No, I don't need to fucking calm down! I need someone to tell me that he isn't real!" She shouted and she slapped a hand on her mouth when she heard that man in question beginning to rouse from his sleep. "Shit, I-I'm sorry, fuck..." the young girl said quietly, wiping her hands on her shirt and swiping a hand under her nose to stop the snot from dripping out.

George exhaled through his nose and put his hands in his pockets, "It's quite alright, Miss," he said her softly with a reassuring look, he turned to where the bed was, where the Hound was beginning to move in his sleep, "I'll take a look at him," he said and she let out a breath of relief, putting a hand on her chest and bowing her head.

"Thank you," she said quietly. George only nodded and stepped to the side to get closer to the bed, where he leaned over the Hound to get a better look at him, all while under the watchful eyes of the security guards. The heavyset man raised his hand and prodded at the flesh of his face, letting his fingers run over his burn scar as he hummed quietly to himself, George then separated the Hound's chapped lips with a pen from his breast pocket and examined his teeth, which were slightly blackened between each tooth and his breath stinking of alcohol. George scrunched his nose and pulled his pen back, wrapping it with a handkerchief and putting it in his pant pocket.

He stepped away from the bed and cleared his throat, "Sufficed to say, this is a truly strange occurrence, I'm not sure what to say..." he said truthfully, looking up to Trisha, Rory, and Bob who all had their thumbs tucked between their teeth in anticipation. "Let's think about this hypothetically, even if this were the real Sandor... The circumstances are impossible to determine- And also, how did he get here in the first place? I should've asked that the moment I stepped in here," he said, baffled, and Trisha let out a deep breath, closing her eyes and composing herself before sitting George down and telling him the story from the start.

"Bob... Aren't those swords just props?" George quipped when she got to the part of when the Hound and Rory got into a swordfight.

"Right you are, George, but Sandor's sword was real while Rory's prop sword was an aluminum training sword- Able to fight with, surely, but it has blunted edges so it reduces the risk of harm on set," Bob explained to him.

"Even the dagger?" George added.

"Well, the dagger... The prop ones, they're retractable and made with plastics and styrofoam, but Sandor's was real."

"Interesting..." George said to himself, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger, "Very interesting."

Trisha got back to telling him the story of what happened, giving him every detail just in case any of it would help him to come to an adequate conclusion.

"Hold on, so everyone now knows of his existence, and they're convinced it's Sandor?" George asked with furrowed brows, his elbows resting on his knees.

Trisha looked to Rory, and the big Scotsman sighed and sat down in the vacant seat next to her and explained to Geroge of the ordeal that happened when the Hound arrived at the hotel, how he punted the director of photography, how everyone from on the set staff team tried to help sustain him and wrangle him into his hotel room where he was tasered again and put into another sleep.

George cleared his throat after listening to what Rory had to say, "You'd think that much tasering would kill someone or at least send them into cardiac arrest, but I suppose that I made him the way that he is, which is a big guy who's tough to kill," he said in a matter of fact manner, causing Rory to chuckle.

"I suppose you're right," Rory said to him with a small smile.

Just a beat later, the Hound began to stir in his sleep again and his eyes shot wide open. The guards quickly stepped forward, securely barricading him from the people discussing the man of the subject in their own corner of the room, Trisha quickly got to her feet and crossed her arms to her chest. Rory instinctively took a step in front of Trisha, sheltering her in any potential harm's way.

George stood up as well, with the help of Bob, and they watched as the Hound sat up on the bed with three guards holding him still to stop him from wriggling out of the bed. "I'll rip out your fucking throats with my teeth if you touch me again," he spat at them, still trying to jab at them anywhere he can.

"Sandor," George said aloud, grabbing the Hound's attention and pausing his attack on the guards trying to hold him down, "Stop this nonsense right now."

"And who the fuck are you supposed to be? Lord of the shitholes, I suppose. I don't fucking care who you are, but you best let me out of here before I kill you too and strangle you with your own bloody guts," the Hound jeered, and George only exhaled through his nose with a frown.

"I know who you are, Sandor Clegane."

"So what, you want to suck my dick? Is that it?"

"Sandor, no."

"If you say my name again one more time, I'll rip your fucking tongue out."

"I know who killed your sister," George said, effectively shutting the Hound up, "And I also know that you're the only person who witnessed her death and the only person to see who caused it.".

"So what, you a priest? Or did that fire worshipping, bald fucker Thoros tell you to look into the flames?" the Hound hissed at his creator.

"No, Sandor, none of that. But right now, all I can tell you is that I know everything that has ever happened to _you_ ,  _to all the people you know_ and _more_ ," George said to him, stepping closer to the bed and being careful not to get a strong reaction from him.

"Go on then," the Hound said to George, "Tell me how my sister died.".

George held his breath, looking back at Trisha, Rory, and Bob and they nodded to him, he turned back to the Hound and wiped the sweat bead forming on his brow. "Your brother, Gregor Clegane, killed your sister.".

The Hound's shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed. "If you're the all-knowing lord you claim to be," he said with disdain, "tell me how she died then. Go on. Tell me," he lowered his head and looked George straight in the eyes, George being taken aback and unnerved by the look in his eye. That look could kill. 

"She died the same way you got that scar on your face. With one hand on her small, infant body pressed into the hot coals and one hand on the scruff of your neck, you could only look on with tear-filled eyes, being burdened with guilt as every second went by. And I know you blame yourself, but there was nothing you  _could_ do. You couldn't push him away, you couldn't call for help, you couldn't do anything. All you could do was look. He made you look," George said to him, his voice wavering as he tried to prove his self to his own creation.

The Hound slumped his shoulders and looked at the floor, Trisha had the mind to think he was trying to blink away his tears after hearing the story from someone else, from someone else who knew the torment that he had witnessed and experienced, but another part of her mind thought that he couldn't possibly be able to cry. Instead, she was trying to blink away her own tears and quietly sniffling as she continued to watch on, waiting for what the large beast had to say next.

"How did you know that?" the Hound murmured quietly, looking back up to George and Trisha could see that his eyes weren't teary at all, that he looked more confused and genuinely surprised.

"Because I created everything that you have ever known. I created you, I created your brother, your sister, your mother and father. I created the seven kingdoms of Westeros and all its noble houses. I created everything you have ever known and more, and it's difficult for me to say this, but none of it is real. You're just one of many characters I created for a book that I wrote, and I'll give you the book to read," George spoke to him sympathetically.

It hadn't occurred to the Hound yet, but Trisha could already understand the devastation of it all. Of all the many things she knew of the Hound, she knew he was a warrior who had to fight for his life too many times to count, that he'd been maimed by his only brother, that he'd been treated like he was lesser than for the entirety of his existence, and now, she knows that he'd witnessed his only brother murder their infant sister only to be told that everything he knew wasn't real. Whether the Hound believed George or not at this moment, it was only inevitable that he would come to discover the modern world on his own but right now... They needed his trust, and whether he knew it or not, he needed their help.

"Get him out of those chains," George said to the guards and Bob stopped forward instantly, "Woah! Absolutely not, no, we can't do that," Bob said, putting his hands on George's shoulders and making him face his self. "We can't take the cuffs off, he's too dangerous," Bob turned to look at the Hound, who hadn't bothered to move, his eyes trained on the ground. Trisha frowned at the sight, she was beginning to think that it was all dawning on him.

Trisha's heart stopped, and she could almost feel the heat of a light bulb beaming over her head, she had just come up with an incredible idea. Well, it was either incredible or incredibly risky, but that was a possibility she was willing to wager with. The young girl stepped forward to the bed, George and Bob too busy arguing to even notice her coming close to the Hound behind them. She felt her heart rise in her throat, her mouth going dry and her hands starting shake with every step she took to get to his side. 

She pulled her phone out of her bra strap and held it in her hand and she knelt in front of the Hound, putting a hand on his leg to steady herself, "Sandor," she said quietly, "I want to show you something."

Bob and George had immediately stopped talking, turning to look at the young girl and the Hound. The large beast of a man looked to her and to the hand on his knee, the back to her face and he said, "What is it, girl?".

Trisha gulped and she pressed the power button on her phone, the screen beaming to life and revealing a picture of herself with her family and the time. The Hound leapt backward slightly and watched the screen warily, his mouth hung open. "It's... This is a mobile phone, an electronic device, it displays moving images and is powered by a battery, a small container of power," Trisha said to him, watching his face closely and looking for any sign of anger but there was none so she composed herself and swiped the screen and entered her passcode, then she went to YouTube and typed in his name, all while the screen was still facing him. Trisha could hear that his breathing was picking up, watching as the search bar went away and the Youtube videos loaded out, all thumbnails featuring his face in them.

"Trisha, what are you doing?" Bob said to her, watching them in amazement as the Hound was near calm and Trisha had finally gained the courage to be in his presence- let alone touching him.

She turned to her boss and explained, "If we can't say it to him, then we have to show him," she turned her attention back to her phone and the Hound, and she selected a video. The video was titled _'Game of Thrones - Best of the Hound'_ and the first clip to play was one of where the Hound defended Loras Tyrell from his brother, the Mountain.

The Hound watched on with skepticism, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched the moving images play out on Trisha's phone, he'd never seen anything like it and it almost scared him, mostly because he was witnessing something of his past on the small device that she was showing to him.

"Stop, stop it," he said to her, shifting his leg and knocking her hand off of him. "I've seen enough," he said to them, looking to the floor once again, Trisha got to her feet and quickly rushed to the safety of the large Scotsman, Rory, grabbing his arm and hiding behind it.

"What does this mean?" he asked to no one in particular, "What does this make me? A cruel joke of the God's?"

"We're not sure how you even got here, let alone what it makes you. For all we know, you could be gone as quickly as you'd come," Rory said aloud, speaking for the first time since George's arrival.

"I bet that's what you all want, for me to be gone. If it's what you want so badly, then you can kill me. There's nothing for me here,"

 _We can't... We can't kill him..._ Trish's mind spurred, making her scrunch her nose on the outside.  _This isn't up to me, this isn't my decision to make, why can't I just shut up?_ she thought to herself.

"No matter what you are or where you came from, killing someone is illegal," George said to him, and the Hound rolled his eyes. "Another reason to kill me."

"We're not going to kill you, so shut up," Trisha snapped, the Hound's eyes quickly finding hers and they stared at each other for a good five seconds before she looked away, the intensity of it all becoming a bit overwhelming for her. "There's no way we're going to kill you," she said to the Hound and he shuffled forward on the bed, leaning forward and saying, "Then give me some steel and I'll do it myself."

"We're not. Going. To kill you," Trisha said to him sternly, her eyes narrowing on him and her heart beating faster and faster as the situation escalated.

"I don't belong here, I need to die."

"I don't care," she said to him seriously.

"And why not, girl? Why won't you just let me fucking die?"

"Because whether you're real or not, if you're actually Sandor Clegane, then the life you could live here, no matter how long or short, would be a thousand times better than the life you would've lived in that fictional shithole," she ranted to him and he looked dumbfounded, his eyes blinking and trying to take in the words she was shouting at him. It'd only occurred to her now that she'd called him by his real name and not his mad title. He had the mind to think that maybe she was right, but he didn't have the mind to think that she cared even though she did, not that she'd admit it. Of course she wouldn't.

This man had almost killed her but it was always in her nature to be nice to people, no matter what wrongs they did to her, and she hated that she was _caring_ for him but she couldn't help it. If he hadn't behaved so hostilely, maybe he would finally be able to see this new world for what it was; a salvation. But she didn't know if he had the patience for it.

"Is this world even worth it?" he asked her, silver eyes crinkled with curiousity.

"You'll have to find out for yourself, Sandor," she said to him, saying his name again. It was kind of refreshing to her to call him by his name rather than calling him by his animalistic tag.

"If you give me your word that you won't harm anyone, we'll take off the chains and send the guards away," George said plainly to Sandor, and Sandor looked back to him and they could see on his scarred face that he was taking his conditions into consideration. He eventually nodded and one of the guards stepped forward with caution and unlocked the handcuffs, taking them off him and the large manman stretc his wrists, groaning in relief.

"So, where do we start?" Bob said aloud.

"I think a shower would be a great start," George said with a smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Trisha try to get their thoughts into check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> Every day at school, I'm sneakily pulling out my phone and opening the Notes app to just write down a witty quote from this character and that character, a cool plot idea for this chapter and this character and it's driving me crazy... Is this story just one big self-insert? Pfft... Yeah, bitch, it might be sksksksks.
> 
> Also, this may be a bit of a short chapter so I'm sorry about that! I hope you enjoy it :D

Rory had helped Sandor in the bathroom, explaining how all the things in there had worked suck as the basin, the toilet, the bath, and the shower. Trisha peered through the open door and saw how clueless the large man appeared to be while gazing at the anomalies of a washroom. Trisha could see Rory opening the shower door for, pulling on the shower handle and the water came spout from the shower head, Sandor stepping back and inspecting the shower and how the water came out of it so quickly.

"The magic of plumbing," Rory quipped and Sandor tilted his head at him, "greatest invention of man."

Trisha snickered and Sandor turned his head, his eyes meeting hers and she looked away in embarrassment, excusing herself from the room to leave the men to do their own business. "Just- Call me if you need anything, Bob. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Martin," she murmured to her boss and his boss as they talked about how the filming process was going prior to Sandor's very sudden arrival.

"Please, Trisha, the pleasure is all mine," George said to her, shaking her hand with a warm smile before she nodded and left back to her own room. Before Sandor had come, she had plenty of work to do; memos to send out, approval requests to the studio on behalf of Bob, doing her homework for uni.

As she left the room, she bumped into the blonde assistant from earlier and yelped in surprise, "Kevin!" she said to him with an exasperated gasp, and Kevin gazed up at her with shocked, wide eyes. "Oh, hey Trisha," he said to her with a grin creeping onto his face. She smiled at him, becoming unexpectedly happy to see someone else other than Sandor, Bob, Rory, George and the many guards that still lurked in the room just for extra precautions.

"What are you doing up here?" Trisha asked him, her head cocked to the side in interest to his comings and goings. He brought a hand to scratch at the back of his head and he mumbled, "Oh, I just lurk around when I have nothing to do, you tend to find a lot of interesting things in these hallways."

Trisha furrowed her brows and crossed her arms over her chest, "Oh yeah? Like what?" she questioned him and he quietly laughed to himself, digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled receipt. He unfolded it and she leaned in closer to read it, she gasped and giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth to stop the echoing of her laughter going down the hallway.

"Oh my God, where did you find that?" she said to him, now chuckling with tears in her eyes. 

"You know that old guy that kept trying to play the piano in the jazz lounge the other day?" Kevin asked her, stifling his laughter.

"Don't tell me- Oh my God, ew! Really? Mr. Babinski?" Trisha said to him, her chest rumbling with chortles.

Kevin only nodded his head with a wide smile, "I tell you, there's no business for a man like that to be ordering that many adult toys-"

"182 adult toys, to be specific," Trisha added with a snort. 

Trisha asked him to join her in the jazz lounge for a drink and he agreed with a meek "Sure!", and off they went.

Meanwhile, Sandor was in the shower and was scrubbing himself with the hotel-provided loofah and he, for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt at peace. The water washing away all his scum and grime, easing the tension in his body and providing him with a warmth he didn't know he had been yearning for. He stood there, naked as the day he was born, his neck up and letting the water pound at his neck and slide down his body.

He dipped his head under the stream of water and could see all the red and black that washed down his form and pooling at his feet before going down the drain. At that moment, he didn't care where he was and what he had to next, he felt like he could stay in there forever and let that hot water just cleanse him.

There was a knock on the door and Sandor could hear his counterpart on the other side. "I'm coming in for a moment, I'm just going to leave some clothes for you on the bench," he heard Rory yell out from the other side of the door.

Sandor sighed to himself at the sudden intrusion but didn't have the care to send him away. "Fine," he shouted out, and Rory came in, setting a neat pile of clothes on the benchtop next to the sink. Sandor didn't have the care to see what Rory was doing anyway, his head still ducked under the strong stream of hot water, and while he was doing that, Rory let his curiosity get the best of him, peeking through the glass shower door to see if anything was happening to the burn scar on his twins face. 

Rory could see the water sliding over his maimed flesh, coming to the conclusion that the water would do nothing because it could do nothing, that scar was a part of him. It was real, that much was known to Rory now. Sandor Clegane is real and he's here right now, that though boggled his mind no more than it did when he first saw him laying in the snow the day prior.

"Call out if you need anything else," Rory said to him.

He slipped through the door quietly, leaving Sandor alone to do his thing. 

The large, scarred man turned to let the water hit his back, letting the rigidity in his muscles slip away and he sighed, soaking in the sober atmosphere, continuing to scrub at his chest with the nice smelling soaps he was provided with and cleaning away the rest of the silt on his body. He hummed to himself in his new haven of comfort and coziness. Is this what death felt like? If it did, he'd welcome it with open arms. But not yet, he had needed to fulfill his destiny. To kill the man who mangled him, his own flesh and blood.

Sandor then grunted, his clear mind beginning to fill with seas of notions and musings, his consciousness hopping from one thought to another, each weighing an unnecessary burden on his shoulders. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to shut them all out, but he couldn't very well fight with his own mind, not in the state he was in. The thoughts kept coming, creeping in behind his eyes with weak visuals.

_Teasing the Brotherhood Without Banners out of pure boredom, trying to entertain himself on their trip to where ever the hell they were taking him._

_The sky began to form with dark grey clouds, lightning swirling beneath the cloak of thick air and suddenly everything went black._

_He felt something poke at his cheek, and he grabbed at the intrusion, taking that things life into his hands._

_That girl's life, he held her life and her body to him, pulling his blade to her throat._

_He searched for the Brotherhood with her yelps coming into his ears, only to find 4 strange looking men, one of them looking identical to him; scar and everything._

_Her screams._

Sandor shook that thought away, he couldn't bear to hear her screams anymore, hear the way she begged him to let her go. He did, eventually, let her go and he saw the way she scrambled away from him, the terrified look in her eyes as she heaved and cried. "No," Sandor muttered to himself, "No."

_He pushed her away, pulling out his sword and coming to fight the man that looked like him, his twin, and then everything went black again after feeling something strange, something powerful taking over his body._

_It crippled him and his body shook violently while trying to fight it, so all he could do was let the darkness take him over again._

_He woke up again in a scramble, being taken outside on a strange gravel road, it was solid and there were no loose rocks, everything was pressed into the ground and it was painted with strange symbols and lines, he tried to fight the men that were grabbing at him, trying to take him into a tall structure with too many strange openings that looked like windows._

_He saw a large group of men exit the building, attempting to come to the aid of the men that had him in their hold, he gathered all the strength he had to whip his head at the first person to come close enough to him, which he succeeded in doing._

_He cackled, his daze rendering him a mad man, a man that was happy enough to get at least one person with a good whack._

_The paralyzing force met him again, something cold being pressed into his neck and making him shake again, he bit his tongue and tried to fight back again, but he could only let the sleep take him over again._

_And then he woke up here, in a strange room on a soft bed and now he was here in another strange room, except this one was nice. The incredible things it made the water do with whatever magic this "plumbing" thing came from, he could stay in it forever._

That was enough. He needed to get out of the water sooner or later, and it seemed to be that sooner was the better. He needed to figure out what he had to with himself next.

"Hey!" he called out to no one in particular, but Rory was there in two beats, peeking his head in and waiting for Sandor's request.

"How does this thing stop?" he asked Rory and the Scotsman came into the rescue.

On the first floor of the hotel, Trisha and Kevin were sharing some funny stories from the set over some fruity cocktails.

"A-and then Bob said," Trisha said, wiping a tear from her eye, "'Who took my magic sweat balls?'" she heaved with laughter and Kevin couldn't help but snort, having to hold a hand over his mouth to stop from spitting up his drink, his other hand slapping the table.

"Oh man, that is  _evil_!" Kevin said with a bark of laughter, "I can't believe you did him like that-"

"Woah! Hey, come one now, it was Jacob Anderson, not me!" she argued, and Kevin raised a finger to counter instead he snickered, "Okay, that's fair."

Trisha raised her eyebrows at him and took a sip from her drink, "Damn right it's fair, I was barely an accomplice."

"His wife gave him those magic sweat balls," Kevin said with a light chuckle.

"Are you talking about the gift or about his actual balls?" Trisha asked, and they broke into more laughter, continuing to chatter about more goofs and pranks that happened around their workplace until someone came to their table.

"I would like to apologize to you, my lady," he said in a tone that always seemed to be gruff and nothing else, his head hung low to get into the light of the dimly lit lounge. Trisha was wide-eyed in taking in his appearance, his clothes that were far different from his medieval get-up, all those thick fur layers and rusting chain mail covering his tattered, woolen clothing underneath. He wore a grey, cotton sweatshirt and dark blue jeans, which all fit perfectly because there was a particular someone who had the exact clothes that he would need to fit. He also wore a black beanie to cover his scar, and who ever's idea it was to put it on, she couldn't decide on who insisted making or letting him wear it, but it looked good nonetheless, not that she minded his scar, she'd seen it on set more times than she can count, even though that scar was fake but that didn't make a difference to her.

"Oh Gods, it's okay-" she began to say but Sandor silently put a hand on the table and leant down further to get to the same level as her, which was a way to go because of how huge of a human being that he was. "It's not, and you know it," he said to her sternly and she gulped at the proximity, feeling his minty breath fanning over her face. Did he brush his teeth? 

"I'm sorry for doing that to you, I'm sure you can understand why I did it," he said, tucking a crooked finger under her chin and lifting her head up every so slightly to see the white bandage plastered on her neck with the tiniest staining of red. He let go after a moment and she felt breathless for a moment, her eyes trained on his and none of the words she wanted to say found its way to her tongue.

"I-I... Thank you... For your apology, Sandor," she said quietly, finally finding the courage to look away from his silver eyes and back to her drink, hoping he'd take the message that their conversation was finished. He didn't really seem to move from his spot, his hand still on the table and his eyes now looking over her face and how her hair fell in soft curls, her lips plump and glossed over with her cocktail, Rory stepped into their space and put a hand on Sandor's arm seeing that their seemingly unfinished interaction was making her uncomfortable.

"I think I'll show you to the bar now, big man, I think you'll like it," Rory said to him and he turned Sandor away from Trisha and Kevin's table, mouthing a quick apology to her, she nodded at him with a smile and then they left to the bar, which wasn't too far away, but it was still close enough for comfort.

"Jesus, he looks a lot different now. They look like twin brothers now," Kevin said to Trisha, a bit shaken after witnessing their strange interaction.

"How come no one finds this as weird as I do?" Trisha said out of the blue, "Like, everyone just saw him and went 'Oh... That's the Hound, that's Sandor Clegane'. Literally, no one else is going crazy over this except for me, isn't that weird?" she asked Kevin and he shrugged.

"Personally, I thought about it for about an hour and just accepted that he was here and that he may be here for good or he may be gone as soon as we know it. Only time will tell, but for now, we'll just have to be patient and see what happens next," he said to her calmly, giving his clear opinion on the matter of the incredibly strange events that have unfolded over the past day and she was jealous of how quickly he'd gotten over it. Trish wondered if he happened to be in the same position that she was in and if he'd come to that conclusion as quickly as he did. If he was in the Hound's arms and had a knife to his throat, wouldn't he just go crazy and think about every single possible reason as to why this dangerous fictional man came to life? 

Trisha took his words into consideration, if she was in his position then she'd surely have come to the same conclusion that he had, but since she wasn't then she didn't know why she couldn't come to that, to that same conclusion.

"Oh! Were you there when..." Kevin said, and Trisha pretended to listen to him as she sipped at her drink and glanced over to the two identical men sitting at the bar and having their own drinks, in their own worlds and talking about everything and more likely than so, nothing.

How did she have to act around him now? 

 _I'm sure you understand why I did it_ , he had said to her. Of course, she could understand why and it's because she knew that he had to adapt to a grisly, primitive world where it was kill or be killed, serve or be served, bite or be eaten. He bit, he served, he killed and he hadn't any other choice, he had to do what he had to do to survive. But why her? Why did she have to let her curiosity get the better of her and poke at him while he lay in the snow? Why couldn't she just... Why couldn't she hate him? Even after what he did? Was it because it was justified? 

Why did she have to let her conscious keep asking her questions?

That was just another question in the bunch that she didn't have the answer for.

 _What do those dreams mean? Why do I keep dreaming of him? Does he dream of_ me _?_

Trisha shook her head at herself, taking a gulp of her drink and trying to tune into the story that Kevin was enthusiastically telling, she needed to get her mind out of the endless question gutter and she didn't know it, but so did Sandor.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trisha tries to figure out what to do with the Hound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> Very, very unedited! Everything is super rushed because, lol, I don't really know why but when I've finished the story, I'll promise to edit and proofread for a real one.
> 
> Sksksksk anyway, yeah, I don't know shit about what goes on behind the scenes during the production process, so this is all off a whim but I'm gonna try my best to make it all sound as authentic as possible.

"Yesterday, we had to stop shooting for, well, obvious reasons, but we really don't have the time to postpone any further, the studio's been going right up my ass about punctuality," Bob said to Trisha, taking a gulp of his protein shake, "even after George vouched for me, they're still bloody hassling me, what a freaking nuisance," he ranted to her, she nodded while listening to him intently.

"I don't know what you expected from them, even with George's help, they only care about pumping out this episode so they can move on to the next one and we're already past the wrap date by a week so this one day break to them is just another day we're not out there filming," Trisha said to him while tapping her pen on her tattered work journal, "they've already given us another month to film, especially because of the serious weather concerns, so they just want us to finish this episode so we can move on to the next one and this break is just making them more anxious. We can finish the filming, I know we can, but no more breaks."

Bob sighed, sliding down in his chair and wiping his hands over his face in frustration, "No more breaks, fine, but we need to sort out this stuff with Sandor," Bob said, his resting his arm on the table and waving his hand around annoyance. Trisha had almost forgotten about him. She hadn't seen him since she'd left earlier that night to go to her room to get continue working on her duties as an assistant and fulfilling her student responsibilities, and both workloads were piling up as the days went by, then she was called to one of the empty conference rooms to discuss the set haps with Bob.

"What do we do with him?" Trisha asked her boss and he shrugged.

"I mean, what  _can_ you do when a brutal fictional character comes to life?" Bob asked, countering her own question, "Everything surrounding that guy- It's a moat of uncertainty. We don't know if he'll just disappear as quickly as he'd appeared or if he'd just drop dead out of nowhere, I mean, can you even imagine trying to merge this guy into society? Do you know how many questions would be asked, how many people would call us crazy? And the paperwork, oh my God, that would kill me, it really would."

Trisha snorted, agreeing with his exasperations. She'd thought about those questions and what they would be, how impossible it would be to even try to convince someone that he just materialized out of thin air and is now going about his business doing whatever he can, within reason. 

"Yeah, just thinking about it literally hurts my brain," Trisha said, sighing with tiredness and Bob only raised his shake in consolidation with her statement, "So, what do we do with him- If he's here by tomorrow morning, do we take him to set? Leave him here with some more guards and a bar tab?" she asked him, and he furrowed his brows, trying to swallow his gulp of protein shake.

"Oh darn, I didn't even think of that," he said, putting his drink down and putting his head in his hands. Trish put down her pen and journal, following his suit. "I guess we could take him to the set, but if he doesn't want to come, I'll just station him here with some guards and we'll see if they're not dead by the time filming's finished," Bob said unsurely. 

"Right..." Trisha said, trying to come up with her own solution to this odd situation.

"I'll send out a memo the crew saying we'll start filming again tomorrow," Trisha said while collecting her things, "then I'll go and have a talk with Rory," she said to Bob and he nodded, collecting his own belongings. 

"Before we go, I just wanna ask you one more thing," Bob said to her and she gave her attention to him, sitting back down with her things in her arms. "How've you been feeling? I know this is a really rough situation, and we're trying to figure everything out as quickly as we can, but this stuff must be hard for you. The guy hurt you, and I'm just concerned," he said to her and she sighed.

"Yeah, it's been tough but I understand why he did what he did. I'm not holding it against him-"

"He almost killed you, Trish."

She looked down at her hands and gulped, "I know that" she spoke to him with a sad tone, "But I don't want everyone reminding me about what he did or else I'll never get over it, and I  _need_ to get over it or we're never going to get anywhere. And besides, he's apologized to me, so that's just another step to putting this whole thing behind me," she finished, blinking away a tear that was threatening to spill over.

"You're a real trooper, Trish, I'll give you that. I don't know what anyone else what've done if they were in your position," he said to her, patting her on the back and she gave him a tight smile and stood up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bob," she said to him, giving him a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Trish, you're doing a great job." 

Trisha nodded at him one last time before they parted ways, she had hoped that Rory was still in the jazz lounge and she also hoped that maybe Sandor had sulked off and went back to his room.

"This shit is an itch," Sandor huffed, scratching at the hem of the beanie on his forehead.

Rory swallowed his drink and hissed, "Well you wanted to hide the scar so that's what you've got," he said, shrugging at the man across from him who seemed to always be in a sour mood, and with good reason of course.

Sandor gave him an exasperated sigh and a glare, "How much do you know about me?" the scarred man asked his identical other, who responded with a tight-lipped grin. 

"Everything there is to know, I guess," he slurred in his Scottish accent, "But I didn't know that thing about the sister, only George knew that."

"That mad fucker created everything in Westeros," Sandor scoffed, picking up his glass and raising it to his lips, "what stupid cunt does something like that?" he asked no one in particular, dumping the contents of his cup into his mouth and gulping it with ease.

Rory only shrugged once more, becoming increasingly annoyed with his counterpart, "If you ask me, I'd say he's a genius," Sandor turned to him, slamming his glass on the bar top and giving him a sinister scowl.

"He murdered everyone I ever cared about, killed and destroyed whatever he wanted, and you call him a genius? Stupid cunt," he said with a quiet rage, and Rory dropped his shoulders, "From your perspective, it's a horrible thing to know but none of it is real, you know that by now," Rory said, bated by Sandor's own mood.

It was difficult for Sandor to wrap his head around it all. Everything he ever knew was fabricated by a paunchy man with a twisted sense of humor, a man who seemed so careless about the ramifications of his actions and what those actions had done to the people that he didn't know had experienced everything that he inflicted upon every single person Sandor knew and more.

Not that Sandor cared about many of those people, in fact, he applauded some of the things he had done to his enemies and the other horrible people who had inflicted pain on those he cared about, but there were more who suffered at his portly hands. Unknowingly, sure, to an  _extent_.

Sandor felt like he couldn't blame him for what happened, how was he to know that his creation was to come to life? And not through a TV show, but in real life. It was a mess that Sandor didn't know could be fixed or if it would ever go away.

"It's a twisted path nonetheless, having to create all that carnage and war," Sandor said while reaching over the bar to grab at a bottle of whiskey, filling his cup almost to the brim, "can't you fuckers just kill me? I don't belong here, I need to go back."

"And for what. To fight in a world that isn't real?"

"It's real to me, damn it," Sandor said with a growl, "All of it was real,  _this_ is real," he hissed, pulling up the beanie to reveal the burnt half of his face.

Rory inhaled deeply and took a sip of his drink, putting the glass down with a quiet clink. "I know that Sandor, but to the millions of people who know your name and face, it isn't."

Sandor furrowed his brows in confusion, "Millions?"

Rory nodded, "Yup, millions."

The scarred man frowned at the information, "All because of that book?" he asked, Rory said, "The book  _and_ the show."

They sat there together in silence, taking their sips at their own paces as they listened to the quiet music played in the background, the mute chatter about them murmuring from the other guests of the hotel and workers from the production.

"What if I killed you, but only on one condition?" Rory said, breaking the mutual silence.

Sandor huffed, "What is it?" he questioned his identical counterpart.

"You have to stay for a while, experience this modern world and if you like it, you can live with me on my boat - away from the dangers of Westeros, I'm sure you'll like it," Rory offered and Sandor sneered, "No."

"Then do it as a favor, you almost cut my blood my leg off."

"I've cut off many legs from many men, I don't owe  _them_ any favors."

"Yes, well they don't exist and I do, how about that?" 

Sandor glowered, bothered by his attempts to bargain his death over the experience of a world he didn't belong in, the world he belonged in was a world where he was physically able to kill his animal of a brother, that was the world where he was desperate to go to.

"I'll stay for one moon and not a second longer, then you'll put a blade through my heart," Sandor said to him and Rory put his hand out for a shake.

"Only if you  _absolutely_ hate it here, then we've got a deal, my friend."

"You teaching Sandor about deals now, Rory?" Trisha said, nearly frightening the large Scotsman and Sandor.

"Bloody hell, woman," Sandor said, his hand instinctively going to his hip to grab at a blade that wasn't there.

"Sorry about that," she said to them with an apprehensive look

"I need to talk to you two about something," she added, grabbing a vacant stool and pulling it out to sit by both of them, forming a triangle.

She hopped in her seat, feeling smaller than usual as she was in the presence of these two huge men.

"Right, so I've sent out a memo to the crew because we're going start filming again tomorrow, but we just have... one... issue," she gulped, "Sandor, would you like to come with us to the set while they finish filming their outdoor scenes tomorrow?" she asked him nervously and his silver eyes narrowed on her, making her more anxious.

Sandor's eyes darted to Rory who slyly nodded at him, and his mind floated back to the deal that they agreed upon just moments ago. 

_'Experience this modern world'_

"Fine," he said finally, turning away from her to lean against the bar bench and sip at his drink.

"Great," Trisha chirped, hopping out of her seat and putting the stool back and she bid went to bid her farewell to them but Rory grabbed her arm before she could walk away. "Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked hastily and she had a surprised look on her face, "Oh, of course."

Rory got out of his seat and they went to an empty part of the bar and she sat down on a stool while he stayed standing.

"How're you feeling?" he asked her with a concerned look in his eye.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? First, it was Kevin, then it was Bob, and now you. Yes, I'm fine," she said in a frustrated tone, swiping away at the stray hairs from her loose bun falling over her face. "I can't get over what happened if people keep bringing it up, and he apologized for it so I don't see any reason why this can't get swept under the rug like everything else," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and hunching over on the stool.

Rory shrugged, "women tend to be emotional creatures," he said with a grin and Trisha protested with a quick 'hey!' before slapping him on the arm.

"I'm kidding, Trish. I was just making sure you were all right, that's all," he said with a kind smile and she smiled back at him tenderly.

"Thanks, big guy," she said, taking his big warm hand and cradling it, then she peered her eyes downward to his jean-clad leg and remembered, "How's the leg doing now?" she asked him, a worried tone in her voice.

He looked down at it and moved his leg around, "It'll be fine but I've gotta go back to the medic tomorrow to get the dressings changed before I get back to work," he informed her and she patted his hand.

"As long as it doesn't turn gangrenous, everything should be fine," Trish replied with a meek but mischievous smile and Rory narrowed his eyes on her, "You gonna rub some poison in my leg while I sleep or something? Should I be concerned?" he said playfully and she laughed, slapping her bare thigh. She still hadn't changed from her t-shirt dress and black belt combo, it was relatively warm in the hotel but she preferred the cold so a change of clothes wasn't of concern at the moment.

"If you bring me some hot chocolate before work in the morning, there'll be nothing to worry about," she grinned gleefully and he chuckled.

"I think that's a sweet deal in exchange for a good leg," he acknowledged and Trisha giggled once more before letting his hand go.

"I think I'll be off to bed now, we've got an early start tomorrow," she said to him with a small smile.

"Right, well I better see you down here bright and early, it's called a hot chocolate for a reason," he uttered to her kindly and she gave him a hug.

"I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early, McCann. Goodnight," Trish said to him, her eyes darting over to Sandor whose eyes were trained on the backlit liquor shelves, she considered giving him a goodbye but thought not to. She gave Rory a wave of her hand with a smile, and she left to go back to her room.

Trisha genuinely enjoyed her friendship with McCann, he was kind to her from day one and had helped her a lot on her first day on set. Rory also realized that she was an incredible companion, she was good at listening and had great advice for someone who was so young, he adored her very much and the feeling was mutual on Trisha's side.

Rory, too, was great at listening and on one particular night, she had gone to his hotel room in a sob and poured her heart out to him over the death of a family member, and he comforted her. She'd also fallen asleep in the solace and Rory let her sleep on his bed while he slept on the couch.

She was so embarrassed when that'd happened, especially knowing how uncomfortable the couch was for sleeping, having done that herself, but Rory was insistent on the fact that he didn't mind. They only knew each other for a week at that point, but ever since, they'd been very close friends and had often confided in each other over sensitive topics. Richard Dormer came into a close second for her, though she wasn't as close with him as she was with Rory.

Trisha went up in the elevator to her floor and walked down the hallway to her room, slowly stopping to stand front of Sandor's room and her heart began to race as her hand lifted upon instinct, her fingertips running over the numbers on the door.

A lump was rising in her throat and she swallowed it down, pulling her hand back quickly and walking briskly back to her own room, swiping the key quickly to open her own door. She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her, trying to calm the rapid beating in her chest. 

Her mind flooded with memories of the events that occurred in that room.

_Waking from her slumber to see him awake and thrashing away at the guards trying to hold him down_

_Seeing that damned taser drop to the floor_

_Running to it in a rush_

_Jumping on top of him_

_Straddling him_

_Jamming the taser into his neck_

_His silver eyes gazing up at her in agony as he trembled beneath her_

_The painful heaving of her chest as she gawked at him, wide-eyed_

_His rigid body coming to a still, his eyes closing slowly and the calm breathing of his chest slowly rising and falling, her body moving in sync with his sleeping movements_

"Stop it, stop," she said to herself, her hand going into a fist and clenching it forcefully, making her knuckles ache.

_Seeing how helpless he was at the revelation of his beginnings_

_Bending the knee at his feet and putting her hand on his thigh_

_Looking up at his saddened eyes as he watched the footage of himself at Gregor and Loras' joust_

"Please," she cried to herself, resting her head on the cold wall next to the door as warm tears threatened to spill over.

_His crooked finger tucking under her chin_

_The intimate touch sending a light shock through her whole body_

_His silver eyes gazing into hers_

_"Tell me, dove. Do you want to kill me?"_

Hot tears streaked down her red cheeks, her breathing shaky as a leaf in the autumn winds, "No," she whispered to herself, clenching her eyes shut and sobbing into her palm. Trisha ran to her bed and grabbed a pillow, screaming into it. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she shouted into the feathery headrest, throwing it back on to the bed.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took off her slippers, sliding into her boots and grabbing her feather jacket, slipping into it quickly, feeling the pockets to see if they still had her naughty secrets in them, which they did. Sniffling, she left the comfort of her cozy room to escape to the exterior of the hotel.

In the elevator, she bobbed her leg up and down impatiently, almost running out of the elevator as their doors opened and welcomed her to the entrance to the jazz lounge and the foyer of the hotel. Lingering silver eyes watched her as she speed walked her way out of the establishment, nearly breaking the glass door with the force she was using.

Rory had left Sandor alone, to go to bed in preparation for filming the next day, with the belief that Sandor was responsible enough to find his way to his room or to at least ask someone to help him find his way to his room, seeing as elevators and key cards didn't exactly exist in Westeros. Not only that, but Sandor's incessant moaning about the modern world was just the kind of sleeping pill he needed, and he didn't want to continue enabling his arguments as he felt it would be work lost on trying to keep him alive and in the modern world in the first place, which was now disguised as a pitiful wager.

Sandor finished off his drink and slipped off the stool, stalking his way to the hotel doors and opening them to find a relatively calm but cold outside, the moon shining on the landscape and engulfing everything he could see in white light.

He looked around to find the seemingly sulking girl and found her sitting on a wooden bench, arms and legs crossed over each other, her wavy chin-length hair whipping away in the direction of the light breeze, her light eyes peering up at the moon and the stars twinkling in the sky, a cigarette hanging loosely in her grip.

"Girl," he spoke up, startling her and making her drop her cigarette, "Jesus Christ, Sandor!" she gasped, clutching a hand to her chest and clenching her eyes shut.

"What in the world are you doing out here? Where's Rory?" Trisha asked, her heart racing at his unannounced arrival and half-expecting to see Rory by his side.

"I asked you first," Sandor said, holding his head up high and crossing his bulging arms across his chest causing her to gulp in anxiousness. Her eyes darted to the burnt out cigarette on the wet ground and she looked back up at Sandor with a tremor in her words. 

"It's- It's a- It's nothing, just a bad habit," she said, clearing her throat, crossing her arms and tucking her hands under her armpits for warmth. "Where's Rory, isn't he supposed to be with you?" 

"No," Sandor sneered, and the young girl could see the muscles in his arms tense up, "He's gone to sleep." 

"Oh," Trisha said, feeling around in her pocket for her packet of smokes.

He stood there, unmoving and stoic, his silver eyes trained on her form as she pulled a small box out of her jacket and plucked a cigarette from it, putting the stick in her mouth and the box back in her pocket. She brought the lighter to her lips and lit the cigarette, Sandor's eyes looking at the way the fire ignited from the lighter. He flinched just the smallest bit at the sight of the quick burst of inferno from the mysterious object, and she blew smoke out of her mouth.

"What is that?" he asked her, standing still and his eyes watching her every move, her chest rising up and down at an uneven pace, her soft-looking hair hugging at her face, her bare legs crossed over each other, a hand tucked under her arm and the other held up to her face holding that untold burning stick.

"My bad habit," Trisha said, bringing it to her lips again and inhaling, blowing out the smoke slowly and feeling the narcotic effect of the nicotine calming her down, relieving her stress. It wasn't the best vice, but it was the closest. She couldn't exactly spill her true thoughts and feelings about the 'Sandor' situation to the people around her, especially because of the intimate nature of some of it, so suppressing her frustrations with a cigarette was the next best thing she could find.

"It's... It's a cigarette. It's the dried leaf from a tobacco plant, wrapped in paper. On one end of this stick, there's a cotton filter and you light the tobacco end with a little bit of fire, you smoke it and voila. A bad habit, it should've been a metaphor," she said, laughing to herself about the last part.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Sandor said, almost sounding uninterested but also a bit angry, Trisha flinched at his harsh tone but went on to explain what she meant.

"It's a pop culture reference. To make a long and boring story short, the cigarette is a metaphor; it can kill you but if you never light it, you don't give it the _power_ to kill you," she said, looking away from Sandor and back at the ground.

"You're killing yourself by smoking that?" he asked, frowning at her synopsis.

"Well, when you have a cigarette you're inhaling smoke, but it just... I don't know, it just makes you feel good. It has this thing in it called nicotine, it's like a drug," she said, feeling embarrassed for explaining something so terrible and being well aware that it made her look bad. She wanted to be more than her indulgence, and she also felt like it was defining her for someone who was weak.

He moved to sit next to her on the wooden bench, and he spoke, "So you're weak?" he questioned her, but it sounded like more of a statement.

 _Oh God, please don't say that_ she thought desperately.

"No," she said, avoiding his gaze and fidgeting with her fingers that were tucked under her arm.

"Yes you are," he grunted and she regretted not leaving and going back to her room as soon as he'd come out to find her.

"No, I'm not," the young girl pushed at him, her eyes still trained on the ground. She could hear him shuffle just a bit closer to her and she stiffened in her seat.

"You think you're so funny with all your bloody metaphors and shit, but you're weak. If you want to die so bloody bad then go ahead and kill yourself right now," he said with a stern tone and she grew hot in her layers, becoming irritated with his notions.

"It's just a stress reliever, it doesn't mean I want to bloody kill myself," she snapped at him. " _You_ want to die, but I know that you won't kill yourself."

"Because there's no honor in killing yourself," Sandor answered her, looking at her shaking hand.

"You don't think I'm honorable?" Trisha asked, turning her head to meet his intense gaze, almost saddened that he thought of her in that way. It was now that she  _really_ regretted not going back inside after he'd spotted her. Did he think of her as someone that was of such a low standing? She hoped not.

Admittedly, smoking really was a bad thing but it didn't make her less of a person... Did it?

Trying to avoid his imminent answer, she decided that her tendency to overthink was getting the best of her.

He didn't give her a response, only continuing to look into her brown eyes and his eyes flickered to her plump, trembling lip, he swallowed his words and his mouth hung agape. 

Tearing her eyes away from his, she let out a deep breath and chucked the cigarette to the ground, standing to stomp out the lit ash. 

"I'm going to bed, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait!" he shouted to her as she began to leave him and she turned around slowly to meet his eyes again.

"I... need... your help," he murmured, standing from the bench and she realized that operating an elevator and an electronic hotel key card wasn't exactly his forte.

"Fine," she said quickly, turning on her heels and going back inside the hotel.

Sandor followed her silently, his boots thumping on the cold, hard pavement, watching her tentatively as she walked to the elevator. Her short wavy hair bobbed with every step she took and it mesmerized him, though he would never admit that.

They stepped into the elevator together and she pressed their floor number button and she went into a separate corner from him, waiting as the elevator slowly lifted. Sandor grunted and grabbed a hold of the bar screwed into the walls and he clenched his eyes shut. 

There was a glimmer of worry in her heart, seeing him so unsettled by the technology but she shut it away and did her best to ignore him. She couldn't keep giving him her attention, it was enough that he kept seeping into her subconscious, her reality didn't need to indulge that.

As soon as the elevator stopped and opened its doors, Sandor darted out and collected himself, huffing at the elevator as its doors shut.

He was going to say something rude, as it was in his nature, but his obvious disdain for the technological revelry was enough to seem like it frightened the young girl before him already so he shut his mouth and walked with her to his own room.

They stopped short of his room and she cleared her throat, "This... Is my room, just in case you need me for anything," she told him and he grumbled, she inwardly rolled her eyes and took that as her cue to carry on.

As they got to the door of his room, "Key card?" she asked him and he stopped to pat his pockets for his key card and he found it, pulling it out and examining it with a scrunched nose before handing it to Trisha.

"You just put the card up to this black part here," she told him, raising the card to the scanner on the door which emitted a small 'beep', "and when you hear that it means the door is open," she informed him and he nodded, taking in the information and taking the key card back from Trisha.

"I'll see you tomorrow, have some rest, Sandor," she said to him, giving him a meek smile and a small wave, turning on her heel to get to the comfort of her own room.

"Girl," he maundered and she sighed, turning back to him in a huff.

"What?" she said in an almost annoyed tone, folding her arms across her chest and Sandor looked to his feet then back up at her, appearing nervous.

"You're an honorable girl," he said proudly and she raised her eyebrows, "I know it's not been easy to deal with a grumpy old fucker like me. I know that I tried to... kill you. But the way you've carried yourself, that's honorable. You're a strong woman, I respect that."

He didn't bother to wait for a reaction, closing his door as her mouth hung open in surprise, she didn't know what to give to him for his kind words. Her thanks? A trade of niceties? Just moments ago, he had called her weak and had implied that she had no honor, and she didn't know if he intended on hurting her feelings or if it was just his honesty mixed with the lack of a filter and a somewhat indecisive mind.

She shut her mouth and turned to go to her own room, unable to come up with a response to what he had just said to her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound may be unpredictable to most, especially after being out of the foreseeable scripts of Game of Thrones, but Trisha is just starting to figure him out. Or maybe she isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
>  
> 
> Another update, everything I'm going to be writing is super unrefined and will be edited upon completion.
> 
> Spooky.
> 
> This is also pretty short as well, so I apologize for that, I'm trying to figure out how to execute this in the best way possible and it's not coming to me as quickly as it used to.

Trisha found herself in her room with her headphones in, sitting on her bed in her pajamas and scrolling through the Game of Thrones Wikipedia page on her phone, Sandor Clegane's page to be precise. Listening to the quiet hum of Frank Sinatra, her eyes took in every detail that the paragraphs had to offer her. 

She wasn't an avid watcher of the show itself, nor the novel series that it was based off, so she was doing her research to try and figure out if she could find out his interests and disinterests to prepare her for the future. She knew the basics about him, dislikes including; fire, his brother, the Lannisters and talkers. Likes include; chicken, wine and... pretty much any alcohol. Except for rum because 'that shit is too sweet'.

_'Clegane was described as a tormented man driven by anger and hate, aspiring only to kill his brother.'_

_Gods,_  she thought, _was that really his only aspiration?_  

She wondered why and how George could write about characters like this, the harrowing history he applies to them and the deadly intentions he gives them. If you take the impossible factor out of the question, the impossible being Sandor's unexpected arrival, George's writing could definitely be regarded as an incredible piece of art, but since the impossible seems to be possible, the consequences are incredibly distressing.

Trisha tried to blink the tiredness out of her eyes as she scrolled through the page, trying to read more about his history and his personality, the pieces starting to fit together; he isn't real, but he was constructed in a specific way. The only people who could truly predict what Sandor could do was George or a diehard fan of the series.

Trisha then wondered... If George could  _think_ about something that could change Sandor, would it work? Like, if George suddenly thought that Sandor had a tattoo of a dog on his hand, would it appear on his body, or is he an entirely separate entity? Another question she needed an answer for.

The young girl wiped her eyes and yawned, quickly tying her hair back up into a loose ponytail and letting her head hit the pillows, letting sleep come over her without fail.

Across the hall, in the next room, Sandor took the beanie off his head and threw it at the floor, grabbing the cup of wine on his bedside table which remained there since Kevin had delivered it earlier that day. He gulped all of its contents in one swift motion and placed it back on the nightstand with an exasperated sigh.

He had nearly drunk himself into a stupor, pleased with the idea of free alcohol and a warm bed at his beck. In a rush, he took off all his clothes except for his underwear, which he liked to wear - it was a definite upgrade from what they had to offer back in the seven kingdoms. Sandor stumbled into his bed and he growled at himself for being so languid, and it was then that he realized he didn't know how to turn off the lights in the room. The lights, too, were an upgrade. It wasn't fire, that was for sure, and he preferred it that way.

Sandor considered going to Trisha's room but thought against it, he'd already asked for her help once, that was pathetic enough. Against his better judgment, Sandor lay in the bed facing the ceiling, his thick blankets pulled up to his chest and his eyes blinded by the strong beam of the golden lights.

He found himself trying to fight the sleep, trying to stop the shameless thoughts of Trisha's small form from plaguing his mind.

_Those creamy thighs are no more tempting than those of a pretty whore's from one of the many nameless brothels of King's Landing... It's tempting nonetheless, which is bad enough. She's an innocent young girl, and she didn't need a scarred old dog like himself to corrupt her._

Sandor figured that if he rid his conscious mind of those thoughts, they wouldn't creep into his sleep but alas, they did. As his eyes closed, he immediately fell into a deep sleep; images of a young brunette girl shifting in her sleep, thick white blankets slipping off of creamy shoulders, alluring brown eyes opening slowly and gazing up at him, arm stretching out towards him languidly with a coquettish grin.

_'Come to me, Sandor,' they said, their sultry words like music to his ears._

The large man awoke in his bed with a sweat, huffing and puffing, his hands grabbing at the blankets and throwing them off the empty side of the bed to reveal nothing but empty, white sheets. His heart continued to beat in his chest, thumping loudly in his ears.

Little did the distressed giant know, the young brunette girl had awoken from a similar dream across the hallway.

Sandor's grey eyes snapped over to the curtains in his room, seeing a sliver of the sky through the dark fabrics, the sun peaking over the horizon, dawn has already come. Stretching out his tensed muscles, he was getting ready to get into the shower, doing his best to rack his foggy mind on how to operate it.

Across the hallway, Trisha had stopped mentally beating herself up for having a particularly explicit dream of Sandor, the details were... stifling, which had made her wake up all hot and definitely bothered.

A ringtone abruptly called out to Trisha and she quickly grasped at her phone and saw that it was her mother calling her from halfway around the world.

"Hey Trishy, what time is it over there?" her mother sang in a cheery tone and Trisha let out a tired yawn.

"Hi mama, it's erm," she pulled her phone away from her ear and saw that it was the crack of dawn, time for work.

"It's around 5 a.m but it's fine, I needed to get up anyway," Trisha said, trying to stifle another yawn.

Her mother gasped, "Aw, love, that's so early!" Trisha snorted, "How's work? Is it good fun? Is everyone treating you well?" her mother asked.

"Yes, mama, everyone's treating me well. It's tons of fun. There's been a bit of a hold up lately but it's fine, I'm sure it'll pass over soon," Trisha said, unsure of what she was saying.

"Ghee, I hope it isn't too bad, my love. Have you heard from your brother yet?"

"Yeah, we're gonna have dinner together when the crew and I get back to Belfast," she said while brushing her crazy morning bed head out of her face and rubbing the tired out of her eyes.

There was a rap on the door and Trisha got up, "Hold on, mum, there's someone at the door."

"Okay, love."

Slipping into her fluffy slippers, she shuffled to her door and opened it to see Sandor in nothing but a towel.

"Oh my God."

"I need clothes, girl," he grunted, his dark wet hair matted to his face and forehead, a hand holding the weak fold of his towel, the damp fabric wrapped around his waist and revealing a surprisingly fit torso. Well, it was no wonder, you had to do everything yourself in a place like Westeros; trekking far and wide to get where you needed to be.

His eyes quickly did a once over of her form, she wore a silk pajama set; a maroon camisole and some shorts, her legs were on display even more so than when she wore her t-shirt dress the night before. His eyes briefly stopped at the sight of the bandage on her neck, the adhesive curling away from her skin from her wild sleep.

 _'My God'_ he thought to himself then he quickly grabbed that thought by the throat and punched it in the face, throwing it in the back of his mind.

"Oh my God, just go back to your room, I'll get you some clothes," she said, raising her free hand to shield her eyes from his half-naked form.

He muttered something under his breath and turned back to his room until he stopped in his tracks.

"Did you..." she began to say and he huffed angrily through his nose.

"I forgot that bloody key."

"Jesus Christ," Trisha said to herself quietly, her heart racing at the sight of his toned wet back.

"Okay just... Oh my God, okay, go into my bathroom and I'll be in there in a second," she said to him and he turned on his heel, entering her room in a rush.

She closed the door quietly and tried to calm herself down, raising her phone to her ear, "Mum, I'll call you later."

"Is everything okay, my love?" her mother asked her, clearly concerned.

"Everything's fine, I just have to deal with something right now-"

"Who was that? I heard a big angry man in the background," her mother asked, pushing her to give more details on the ordeal.

"I-It's just a co-worker, I'll call you later, bye mum!" she said, quickly hanging up and throwing her phone on the bed, a feeling of guilt quickly coming over her for not giving her mother the chance to say her farewells. She brushed it off quickly as there was a bigger issue at hand.

She made her way to the closed door of the bathroom and gave three knocks. "I'll be back in a few minutes with some clothes, okay?" she said aloud and he responded with a "Go on, girl."

"Alright..." she said quietly to herself, her mood immediately dropping from his rude tone.

She grabbed her phone off her bed and her key card from her jacket pocket and left to find Rory's room.

At the end of the hallway was Rory's room and she knocked on his door rapidly and the door immediately opened to find that he was already dressed and ready to get to work. 

"Woah, Trisha, are you okay?" he asked her, raising his hand to gesture to her hair, "And why are you in your pajamas?". Trisha felt her cheeks grow pink, trying to pat down her hair which was undoubtedly sticking out in all kinds of crazy directions.

"I just woke up, and I need some of your clothes," she said abruptly, not bothering to give him any more details.

"What? Why?" Rory asked her with furrowed brows.

"Um," she said, burrowing her hand in her pockets, "Well, Sandor had a shower and then came to my room to get some more clothes, accidentally locking himself out of his room and... Now he's in my bathroom with nothing but a towel and he needs more clothes," she said to him quickly, trying not to seem awkward but Rory leant against the door frame, crossing his arms and raising a brow at her.

"Don't even," she flared her nostrils at him, putting her hand up to his face and a chuckle rumbled his chest, a grin gracing his cheeks.

"Okay, give me a minute," he said to her and he left to go and get a new pair of clothes and boots then they left together to go to her room where a very clueless Sandor was waiting.

Trisha opened to the door and held it to let Rory in, which he nodded at her for then he went to the bathroom door with all his clothes in hand and gave it three rough knocks. "Alright, big guy, I've got your clothes," he said loudly and the door cracked open, Sandor's head peaked through and saw that it was just Rory and Trisha.

Sandor couldn't help but glance over at the small girl in all her revealing glory, though she was less revealing than he was in his simple white towel, even so- her small shirt and small shorts were enough to send any man into a small fit of lust, Sandor could even tell that Rory was trying not to take a peak, his counterpart trying to look at anything but her and her sultry pajamas.

"Here," Rory spoke with an impatient tone, pushing the large pile of clothes topped with boots into Sandor's arms and grabbing the door handle, slamming the door shut.

"Thank you, Rory," Trisha said to him, "we really need to take that guy shopping, you can't keep giving him your clothes," Rory nodded in agreement.

"I'll take him to my dealer," he said to her with a grin and she laughed.

"I'm gonna have to kick you out now, I need put some clothes on or else we're gonna be later than we need to be," Trisha said with a giggle, pushing at his firm chest, effectively moving him towards the door.

"Alright, well if you get down in time, there'll be a  _hot_ chocolate waiting for you," he said and she gave hummed a sweet little thanks to him before closing the door.

She ran to her bags and filed through her clothes, pulling out a long-sleeved red and white striped shirt along with some black denim overalls and black socks with strawberries. "This'll do," she said to herself and she quickly took her pajamas off, aware that there was a giant man in her bathroom changing into his clothes as well.

Faster than she'd ever done before, she slipped her shirt and speedily pulled up her overalls, clipping them on and putting her socks on, shoving them into her only clean pair of boots left; a pair of black doc martens with white fur lining. Putting on her jacket and digging through her bag once last time for a lost pair of gloves, Sandor suddenly exited the bathroom which gave the young girl a fright.

"Oh! Oh, good, you're decent. Well, erm, I can't find my gloves so let's go, we're gonna be late," Trisha said to him, gesturing for him to move to the door first so she can close it behind her. He stood in the hallway, unsure of what to do as Trisha ran back into the room and grabbed her shoulder bag, shoving her necessities and whatnot into the pocket. 

"Hold on just a second," she said to him without even looking his way, she ran into the bathroom and quickly brushed her hair, tying it up into a tiny little bun then applying very light make-up.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Together, they had a short and silent journey in the hallway, going down the elevator and into the foyer where most of the crew were already leaving. As various members of the crew hauled their bags and cases in their arms, they stopped at the sight of Sandor in civilian clothing, the director of photography sending him a disappointed shake of his head, the three familiar assistants still wide-eyed at the man in front of them, some of them leaning into each other with cupped hands and beginning to gossip between one another.

Sandor growled and most of them were sent on their merry way to finish off what they were doing, not interested in the idea of witnessing another rage fit from the rage monster himself. The director of photography, Gregory, lingered by and Trisha could sense that he was still uneasy and concerned about Sandor's presence, and Trisha could definitely sympathize with him.

Trisha glanced up at Sandor who was wearing a scowl on his face, overseeing every person that was walking about the foyer of the hotel, coming in an out to get ready for the trip to the outback, he was truly standing there like a guard dog, but he was only guarding himself.

Inching her hand closer to his arm, she poked him and he didn't react to her in the way that she'd expected, he was still rather calm, "What do you want, girl?" he muttered to her, his eyes still glossing over the environment unfamiliar to him.

"There's... A man, over there, do you see him? He has a bandage on his head," she said to him, nodding towards Gregory who had since turned his attention away from Sandor and was now overlooking some papers that someone had just brought to him.

"What about him?" Sandor said with an uninterested tone.

"I don't know how to put this, but... Erm, well you're the reason why he has that bandage..." she said to him, looking up at him and waiting for his response but there was no response, Sandor had acted like he didn't hear a single word from her.

Trisha cleared her throat, "And I think it would be a good idea if you'd apologize to him," she suggested and Sandor turned to her with a furrowed brow and leaned down to get to her height, his mouth near her ear, "You want me to apologize to that cocksucker over there? Well, I don't apologize to people who get in my fucking way," he murmured to her quietly which sent a shiver down her spine.

"You apologized to me. You apologized to me even when I was in your way," Trisha said with a nervous gulp, referencing back to when Sandor had held her captive only a day ago, and Sandor said nothing.

"Here ye go, one hot chocolate," Rory said, joining them both and handing Trisha a disposable cup with her chocolatey goodness. "Thanks, McCann."

"Trisha! Good morning, dear!" someone in the crowd said aloud and Trisha found the source of the warm greeting, "Good morning, Richard!" she said to them, wrapping her free arm around his shoulder and giving him a one-sided hug.

"Beric?" Sandor said quizzically, looking over Richard's clothes with unfamiliarity.

"Oh Gods," the shorter man chuckled, "Hey, Sandor, I'm Richard, I just... play Beric Dondarrion in the show."

Sandor scoffed, "Everyone's always playing something like this is a bloody game," he scowled before walking off on his own to do God knows what.

"Grumpy lad. True to his character though, you'll have to admit that," Richard said aloud and Trisha greed with a hum.

"We just need to give him time, that's all, this mustn't be easy for him," Trisha said, nudging Richard's arm with her elbow.

Richard sighed and put an arm around her shoulder, "Mustn't be easy for you either. How are you holding up around that big guy?" he asked her and she shrugged, "It's getting easier, that's for sure" she tells him and they chat about what their day entails before gathering their things and getting ready to leave the hotel.

Trisha found Sandor sitting at the bar all by himself drinking straight from the bottle.

"How did you get that? The bar is closed," she questioned him and he swallowed his drink, "It's none of your business," he tells her nonchalantly, bringing the bottle to his lips and chugging it like it was water.

"It _is_ my business because the hotel bills the company for what we take, and I don't know what they'd do if they found out that you've just stolen from them," she said frustratedly, moving to sit on the stool next to his. "Sandor, you're not in Westeros anymore, you can't just take what you like when you please. If you want something, you can ask for it and we'll do our best to help you-"

"You want to help me? You can start by shutting up those yapping those lips. It's getting on my fucking nerves," he grumbled annoyingly, causing Trisha to flare her nostrils and hold back a flurry of tasteful remarks.

"Put the bottle down, we have to leave," she said to him, turning her back from him and walking back to the foyer where Bob and Rory were waiting for them both.

"Good morn- Woah, hey, are you okay?" Bob said to her then saw how upset she was as she stormed past them both.

"I'm not dealing with him anymore," she said to Bob, leaving him dumbfounded as he watched her quickly walk out of the hotel doors.

Sandor trudged to Rory and Bob who looked at the scarred man with raised brows. "What did you say to her?" Bob asked him with a restive tone and Sandor scrunched his nose, "Nothing," he huffed.

Bob and Rory shared a look of disbelief but hey decided to ignore it as they were getting behind schedule, "Okay, well, let's go, we have to hurry."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor has a taste of Westeros behind the cameras and Trisha does her best to keep him under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> I don't want anyone to be alarmed or anything, but I've changed the director of photography's name from Jonathon to Gregory.
> 
> In more important news, culinary school is a pain in my butt.

Trisha sat at the back of the van, staring out the window with her headphones in and ignoring the surroundings around her, lightly tapping the window to the beat of 'Everybody Loves Somebody' by Dean Martin and quietly humming to the relaxing tune. She held the takeaway cup of hot chocolate in her hands, enamored with the warmth it gave her. Bringing it to her lips, she swallowed the warm chocolate drink whole and allowed it to warm her up inside.

She felt the seat next to her shift and she turned to see who it was.

She took out an earphone and greeted them warmly, "Hey, Kevin," she said to the blonde boy, "What's up?"

"Um, well Bob wants to put me in charge of minding Sandor," he gulped, looking at Trisha nervously. "Got any advice for me? I don't know how to handle guys like him, you know... aliens and such," he told her and she sighed in contempt at the mention of the unkind giant.

She had done her best to get on good terms with Sandor, had tried to help and aid him on this difficult journey of being in a whole new world when she didn't even need to. Trisha owed him nothing and wasn't obligated to do anything for him, especially since he had nearly killed her, yet he still remained as rude, unkind and stubborn as ever.  _Asshole_ , she thought to herself. Otherworldly or not, he could at least learn to adapt to the environment around him and try to change his manners for the better. 

 _'Getting on my fucking nerves'_ she said in her mind, mocking the words he'd spoken to her earlier with a childish voice.

He'd diminished her confidence greatly, wounded her pride and she was annoyed that his meaningless words had gotten to her.

And the fact that Bob had stuck poor Kevin with the job of minding that rude skyscraper was, albeit quite funny, not the best decision to make. But Trisha was beginning to see an opportunity here, an opportunity to spend more time with Sandor, to figure out his deal and if he knows anything about how and why he got here.

It wasn't a decision she wanted to make but she'd make the best out of it.

"I'll watch over him, but you're taking over my on-set duties instead. Got it?" Trisha told him and he let out a big sigh of relief, clapping a shaking hand over his chest. "Are you sure? Doesn't he... Wouldn't he, um... Are you really sure? After what he did to you-" he questioned her and she placed a hand on his jittering shoulder.

"I'm sure. Now go before I change my mind... Oh, and can you take this and put it in the rubbish?" she said to him in a snappy tone, not letting him finish what he was about to say. She gave him an apologetic look as she handed him the cup. Cutting him off and then asking him to do something for her, she felt a little guilty. The blonde boy only nodded with a tight-lipped smile before taking the empty cup from her hand and leaving the seat next to her vacant once again.

She spied Bob escorting Rory and Sandor through the tinted window of the van to their own separate vehicle and she could see Rory gesturing to the inside of the van, likely explaining what it was and how it worked, then she saw the two identical giants crawl into their vehicle together.

Somehow it was more difficult to persuade a conscious Sandor into the transport van rather than an unconscious Sandor, but he finally let on once Bob promised to have a small liquor fridge put in his room, it was the most begrudging handshake Bob had ever received.

Bob slapped the roof of their van and they left, only Bob and Trisha's enormous van was still parked in the lot, tire tracks carved into the snow on the road ahead from all the other set trailers and such. 

Jumping into the vehicle, Bob sat on the seats near the door while Trisha stayed in her spot all the way at the back, and it was clear to Bob that she wanted some peace. Whatever Sandor had said to her, it's sticking to her and it's getting on her nerves, and Bob could tell that just by the sourly solemn look on her face.

"I thought the Giants were riding with us to set?" Trisha said aloud to her boss, still peering out the window as the van began to drive away, leaving the gray height of the hotel behind them.

"They were," Bob spoke to Trisha in a tired voice, "But you said you weren't dealing with _him_ anymore, so we're putting that spare van to good use," he informed his assistant and she nodded to his words, indicating that she was listening to him.

"Listen, I'm trying my best to figure out what to do with him as well, but for now he's gonna have to tag along. I know it's not the easiest thing to have him around, but no one was prepared for this, least of all you," he said to her, Trisha finally looking in his direction and he gave her a sympathetic nod.

Trisha brushed away the hair on her face, "I'm watching over Sandor today, I've relieved Kevin of his duty."

"Relieved- His duty? Trisha, that isn't your decision to make. In fact, I made that decision because I didn't think you'd be comfortable doing it!"

"W-well, I'm not. But Kevin is understandably terrified of the guy, I don't want to put him through that because that annoying giant will get to him," she explained to Bob and he sighed at her with a knowing look.

"He got to _you_ , didn't he? Isn't that why you stormed off this morning?" he said to her calmly and a swell of irrational anger came over her, though she didn't express that to him. She knew he was right. Helping a man like that was never going to be easy, especially in the beginning; having to taser him to keep his rage-filled and dangerous self subdued, his constantly rude manner made it difficult to try and co-operate with him and his sense of pride and masculinity getting the better of him.

Trisha pursed her lips, figuring out what to say to her boss. "I was in an itchy mood. I was on a call with my mother this morning and it was interrupted, I'm just particularly ticked off because I haven't spoken to her in a while, that's all."

The truth was that he really did get to her. Sandor's discourteous inclinations and insidious tones were something so unnatural for her to encounter, especially since it's not exactly something you come across often in the modern world. People in this day and age are so disposed to be kind to others, to treat others with respect and even though she knew that the world that Sandor knew wasn't like that, she couldn't help but feel discouraged.

Sandor had the true gift of making people feel insignificant and unworthy, a sensitive guy like Kevin wouldn't be able to handle that kind of attitude, let alone for a whole day, she could tell. Trisha wasn't sensitive herself persé, but she definitely has the energy to deal with a guy like Sandor, not to mention; she has the moral upper hand. That was enough to tell her that she could try just a little bit more to figure out just how to communicate with a guy like him. But such rage, was that a Westerosi trait or just the trait of an ill-mannered giant with the biggest grudge in the world?

Well, she thought, I'd have a grudge like that if someone I was born to trust had done something horrible like that to me...

"Was that the only thing?" Bob egged on, trying to get the truth out of her but she stood her ground.

"Bob, please. Okay...You're right, is that what you want me to say? But I'm  _this_ close to figuring him out. He may be some character from a book or a tv show, but he's not anymore. He's his own entity and is acting at his own will for once, everyone needs to understand that," she told her boss in a rant, and he sighed at her clarification.

Trisha sniffled, "I'll be minding Sandor, Kevin will take over my duties as your assistant. Just for today," she told her boss and she felt weird giving him the command for once, Bob only smirked at her words.

"He's not my assistant, you are-"

"He's a production assistant, that makes him everyone's assistant," she retorted and she can see that Bob was hiding a snort.

"Fine," he told her finally, "I have to say, your plan is risky but the outcome could be really good. But if he ever tries to be an arse to you again, know you're not obligated to help him out, you can leave that up to me,"

"I never said he was an arse," Trisha said with raised brows.

"I know you didn't," he responded with a small and knowing smile, Trisha was pleasantly surprised to know that he was aware of the situation she was in but still decided to let her do what she thought was best despite how precarious it was.

As Trisha felt the vehicle parking next to the barrage of others surrounding the set back in they icy deserts of outback Scotland, she peered out the window once more to see Rory, Sandor, and Kevin get out of their van under the shadow of the still-dark sky. Rory was chipper, seeking a lone corner where he could have a cigarette while Kevin followed Sandor nervously, glancing around himself to presumably look for the girl who had promised to trade places with him.

Sandor was as gruff as ever, eyeing everyone that was doing their job on set; she saw the cameramen and gaffers working together, make-up artists bringing their kits into their trailers, script advisors pointing here and there around the desert.

Trisha saw that Sandor was looking at them with disdain, the foreign concepts being something so contemptibly foolish-like to him, which nurtured the feeling of distaste in her heart. Being in such disfavor of your new surroundings is a fathomable thought, especially when you understand the context of it all, but Trisha couldn't help herself.

She'd never seen such a constantly exasperated man before, and though his story may give him some leeway, Trisha also had the freedom to be at unease around him. He's not a man with a heart of gold, as she'd seen some fans say on their blog posts across many platforms, Trisha knew that. Although, when he wore that beanie and had a blank face rid of a scowl he appeared to be quite stoic and handsome.

Wait. No, she thought, Gods please give me the strength... Don't let these illicit thoughts disrupt my sane train of thought. The sane train forever and always.

"It's fucking cold," the scarred giant spat, his counterpart chuckled, "No shit," Rory replied to him, coming back from his quick little smoke break.

"Come," he continued, "It's warm in the trailer," he said, gesturing his hand to a trailer that had its lights on inside and two women on the outside having a loud conversation filled with gasps and guffaws. Sandor sneered.

"Not with those wailing fucking women," he said, turning his head away and looking to see Trisha exit the vehicle she was in, her head covered with the furlined hood of her coat, her plump pink lips quivering and her body shaking as a chill wind passed over. She was coming his way and Sandor's natural instinct was to straighten his aching back and hold his head up high.

"Kevin, Rory. I've got it from here. You," she pointed at Kevin, "Can go and talk with Bob, and you," she pointed at Rory with a cheeky smile, "can go ahead and get all prettied up now."

"Like a Barbie," he responded with a toothy grin and off he went in the direction of the makeup trailer, "Oh thank God," Kevin muttered under his breath, sparing Trisha a sympathetic look before scuttling off to find Bob, leaving Sandor and Trisha to dote on what to do next while everyone is helping to set up the set.

Sandor didn't say anything, he had a frown on his face matched with a scrunched nose, his arms crossed over his chest for warmth, standing on the ice seemingly unmoving and he thought about the ride in the van with Kevin and Sandor. Kevin, much like any other squire he'd met, was obviously anxious and wary of how he spoke and moved to and around Sandor which somehow angered the giant even more.

"Stop squirming in your seat, boy," Sandor said in a menacing tone, watching Kevin in the seat in front of him gulp with wide-eyes and nod profusely. 

"U-uh, yes sir..." Kevin said, looking away from Sandor in embarrassment as his voice wavered. Sandor huffed through his nose and he saw how Kevin flinched at the abrupt sound.

"Leave the boy alone," Rory said aloud, stirring from his nap. 

Sandor grunted in dismay, leaning back in his leather seat and glancing out the window to see the view slip by with every second that went on, the scenery becoming one white blur.

His mind went into a frenzy, the same image of Trisha sitting outside the hotel bathing in the moonlight and the barely-there fog, the smoke escaping between her lips, her hair whipping around lightly in the breeze, her exposed thighs shivering in the cold. The scarred man bit the inside of his cheek with disappointment, uneasy with himself and his own rolling index of inappropriate thoughts, trying to be sycophantic over the repetitive imagery circling his brain.

Mostly, he was unsettled at how taken he was with this girl. For one thing, he definitely thought she was brave. He admitted that to her in his own words. She was held in his arms with a knife to her throat and still had the gall to try and offer her succor. Braver than most women he'd met. Sandor had the sense that she wasn't as fearless as he initially thought she was, but in the time she'd come to be in his presence, she was growing to be more courageous to his front.

It wasn't like she deserved the world for trying to take a stand in front of him, but she definitely deserved some recognition for her determination to aid a grouchy old dog like himself in these unordinary circumstances.

Then he had the incredible idea to bark at her earlier that morning, he felt the guilt consume him. Once again, she was offering her help and he bit back at her because he favored his silence and his looted liquor, it wasn't a good enough reason to be so discourteous, especially to her of all people.

Sandor was beginning to think she was one of the only people he could turn to in this world. Well, this world  _and_ his world.

This place, it was definitely different in some good ways but also in some bad ways. He missed how he was able to kill without dire consequence, steal without protest from the casualty, and he terribly missed how familiar he was with his own world. It comforted him knowing he knew where he was going, whatever path he was going to trek. 

But another comfort was knowing that in a world like this modern technological marvel, the society he had witnessed was one of compassion, a place where he didn't have to constantly fear over his own safety. Well, he feared for it when he was being tased multiple times. But there was no vengeful house marching to the hotel with their bannerman or any of that dreadful fucking wildfire. There was no war unfolding in his vision at the horizon, it was just white with ice and grey skies. He'd begrudgingly admit, this is nice.

Hopefully, there weren't any dreaded fucking wights of those small walls of ice. Oh, wait... They don't exist here. Just another reason to add to his pro list of this modern world.

"This world isn't so bad," Sandor said aloud, Trisha turned to him, confused with the random choice of words.

Nonetheless, she agreed, "Yeah, it's... really something else," she confessed, turning away from him. His eyes glanced over to her, seeing a small smile on her face as she looked over the bustling wonder that was behind-the-scenes. And while it wasn't silent in the surroundings around them, it was silent between them both as they both stood and stared at what was happening, and that was a silence that Sandor was not in favor of as it gave his mind the quiet it needed to roam and think of ill-suited things such as the small brunette girl crawling to him on her knees in nothing but thin sheets of silk-

"Girl," he said to her, catching her attention and she looked at him with a warm hum, "that thing you showed me. In the room," he spoke to her quietly and she felt her cheeks turn pink.

 _Oh God, can he see in my dreams? That_  thing _I showed him in the room? What kind of sadistic, perverted wizard is out there doing this to me-_

"That magic mirror," he tried to explain but Trisha immediately understood what he was trying to say.

"Oh! You mean this?" she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and revealing it to him.

"Yes," he said, eyeing it suspiciously in her hand.

"Well, it's not magic and it's not a mirror... Well, it can be, but- here, I'll show you," she said to him with a warm smile and as everyone around them was transporting the appropriate things to the appropriate places, reading from their schedules and fixing on their clothes, Trisha stood as close as she could to Sandor, showing her phone to him and explaining the mechanics of it.

Trisha first opened the camera app and as it unlocked, it revealed the ground beneath them appearing as though the screen was transparent.

"So this is a camera. The purpose of it is that it captures an image, almost like creating an instant painting," she said to him and she flipped the camera around to the front, Sandor saw himself on the screen and grimaced. 

"I don't like it," he said scowled.

"Ah, okay, that's fine," Trisha said with raised brows, closing the app and opening up another, "This is a torch app. It's pretty much just a light," she turned on the light and turned the back of the phone over to show the light beaming brightly.

_Another source of light that isn't fire. Convenient and welcoming._

"I'll explain the rest of it later, I wanna show you around," she told him, taking the lead and walking towards the trailers.

Sandor trudged along quietly, his hands now in his pockets and glaring at any person unfortunate enough to have been ogling at him as he walked by. Trisha stopped in front of the very trailer that Rory was in, she peaked in through the door and saw that he was being scolded for throwing away the latex piece for his face, he protested but Sarah, the senior prosthetics coordinator, only pursed her lips at him with raised brows.

Trisha didn't know what Sandor would think about having his most insecure part of himself being put onto his counterparts face so she turned to him and said, "We'll try another trailer, this one's busy."

Sandor rolled his eyes as she turned back around and hopped off the steps, walking to the trailer next door.

In that trailer, Richard Dormer, Paul Kaye who plays Thoros of Myr, Louis, Conroy, and Eamonn who were the remaining nameless members of the Brotherhood, were all sitting around and playing cards with some music blasting from a small speaker set on a vacant chair next to them. They were in the middle of sharing some laughs when Trisha knocked on the door with a sheepish smile.

"Hey boys," she greeted with a big smile on her face and they turned to the trailer door, their faces lit up and they threw their cards down on the small coffee table that they all surrounded and stood up in their costumes.

"Trisha!" they all cheered synonymously, going forward to wrap their arms around her in a big group hug.

"I mean, I totally missed you guys too but it's only been like 2 days," she murmured in the hug and they laughed.

"Trisha," Richard said with a grin as they all pulled away, "Rich," Trisha responded, a cheek-hurting smile on her face.

"Hey, Trish," Paul said to her with a light laugh, "We didn't see you yesterday, all the lads and ladies went to the Golden Trident last night, you should've come!" he told her enthusiastically and Trisha feigned a disappointed look.

"You guys went without me?" she gasped dramatically and they laughed together. For a moment, Trisha had her guard down and it was nice. That guard was the one that she held up in front of Sandor to not seem like a silly girl and have a cold but understanding front, a front that Sandor would respect and not be so disapproving of. Though, she didn't know why she needed his approval at this point. Was she afraid that he would bite? 

She'd realized that she'd forgotten why she came to the trailer in the first place and quickly composed herself, turning to gesture to Sandor who was standing outside the trailer in a somewhat awkward manner, his expression a display of how confused he was with what had unfolded in front of him. It was almost an expression of disgust, seeing his former traveling companions behaving so differently.

"Guys, this is Sandor," Trisha told them with a shaky breath.

"Like..." Eamonn began to say, " _Sandor_ Sandor or, uh..." he couldn't seem to finish his words as the very real Sandor was beginning to stare daggers into his soul.

Trisha cleared her throat, feeling the energy in the trailer die down a little bit, "Yes, Eamonn," she confirmed for him and she gave a face that said "Oh! Oh, okay".

"Thoros," Sandor said aloud, still standing outside the trailer, catching the attention of Paul. "Dull fucker," Sandor said to the man in the trailer, then he walked off.

Louis and Conroy snickered at the rather random remark, looking at Paul who had a frown and a confused smile on his face.

"What the hell was that?" Paul chuckled, looking at Trisha who shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sorry about that, I'm still trying to figure out how to have him... Like, not be such a sporadic dork," she explained regretfully and Paul nodded comprehensively.

"Don't fret on it, Trish, I understand," he said to her, putting a gloved hand on her arm and she felt a relief come off her chest.

"Listen, we're going back to the Trident again tonight, we really want you to come this time," Richard said aloud, stepping between Paul and Trisha.

"Last night was just a drink for the first break we've had in a while, and tonight we'll drink to the episode wrap," he explained to her and she nodded.

She pretended to consider the request before breaking into a big smile, "Of course I'll come," she told him and Louis, Conroy, and Eamonn all cheered behind them which made her break out into a cheerful laugh.

"Well, I've gotta go and find Sandor before he does something stupid," she told the Brotherhood quickly and they all gave her a warm farewell, she regretfully exited the warm trailer with a shiver and went off to find the curious giant.

She found him a minute later, sitting on a wooden crate by himself, elbows resting on his knees and eyes closed, appearing to be deep in thought. Trisha slowly walked to him, not wanting to alarm him and she stopped in front of him.

"I don't belong here," he said to her, not even bothering to open his eyes to know that it was her standing there.

"I know," she said to him, moving to sit next to him on the crate.

He felt her radiating warmth envelope him, it was comforting but he was still downhearted with the situation he was in.

"Why am I here?" he asked her, looking at her with an expression that Trisha would call quiet desperation. Not quite showing it, but she could sense it under the front that he was giving her.

"I ask myself that with every hour that goes by," she confessed, looking away from him and up to the lightening skies.

"Of course, there's no logical explanation for this. The first thing we thought of that actually made sense was that you were just a crazy fan of the show on some serious kind of drugs," she told him with a lighthearted laugh, he didn't react at all.

"Perhaps the Gods are trying to punish me," he mentioned to her and she dwelled on that possibility for a moment.

"It has to be some mystical thing," she threw out into the air for consideration and she saw Sandor's nose twitch. She could tell that he was trying his hardest not to give back a rude retort.

"Back in Westeros, those poor cunts are probably eating each other alive. They're all doomed. It'll either be Cersei, the dragon queen or the night king. All of those options are shit," he told her, looking up to the sky with her. "I could be there fighting, but I'm here instead."

"Aren't you tired of fighting?" Trisha intercepted, glancing at him and he sighed.

"Aye, girl," he drawled, turning his view to his hands in his lap, clenching and unclenching his hands. "But I'm not done yet."

He gazed upon her in the darkness of the morning, her eyes still trained on the sky, her brown eyes glimmering in the sun's peak over the horizon. 

Trisha wanted to tell him that there was no fight. There was no Gregor Clegane, there was no Westeros, there was no Known World. But it wasn't easy telling someone that everything they knew was just a story. He knew that anyway, but constantly trying to remind him of it must be a bore and a pain.

"Hopefully lightning will strike again. Maybe it'll take you back home," she told him and he inwardly scoffed with a small smile, quickly turning stone-faced again.

"Maybe," he repeated and they had a quiet moment together just gazing up at the morning sky.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are flying through the air, and Trisha has no idea how to handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNEDITED.
> 
> Hey guys! I know it's been almost a month since the last update, but exciting news! I just got a scholarship! 
> 
> I've had to really crank up my work ethic in class to keep up my results in order to keep the scholarship, so I haven't had much time between school, homework, and babysitting to update this little piece of mine. 
> 
> I hope you guys don't mind! Thanks to all of you who are keeping up with the story, it's really what keeps me going! :D

"Quiet on the set!" Bob shouted out in his chair under the director's tent, his attention focused on the monitor in front of him feeding him the camera's view of Rory and the Brotherhood on horseback, waiting for their call to start riding and do their dialogue.

"Strange seeing that fucker with my face," Sandor murmured to Trisha, leaning against a trailer with his arms folded across his chest, Trisha squinted her eyes to look up at him through the blaring light of the morning. "It would be weird if it wasn't," she told him, turning back to observe the scene beginning.

The 2nd assistant camera operator held the clapperboard up to the front of the camera and slapped the slate down, jogging behind the camera to let the scene ensue. The actors in front of the cameras cued for their horses to start their walk and then they began to do what they do best; act.

Trisha saw Bob and Gregory having an animated discussion under their tent, she was sure she heard the mention of Sandor and what should happen to him if he somehow came to exist in the coming days. At the mention of his name, Trisha looked to her side to see Sandor watching the scene unfold, watching as the Brotherhood trudged alongside Rory on their horses.

He suddenly pushed himself off the trailer and turned away from the set, walking to... Well, she didn't know where. "Wait, where are you going?" she questioned him. 

Sandor bit his tongue for once, what he wanted to say was "None of your business!" but he knew that would bring up what he'd said earlier, something he'd regretfully said with an unpleasant tone. Instead, he said, "Fuck off."

It wasn't nearly as mean sounding as the tone he'd spoken to her in earlier, but she couldn't help but let the words sting, the feeling of being rejected again weighing over her head like a nasty cloud. "Oh, okay," she replied to him, he didn't even bother to turn back around to look her in the eyes as he spoke to her, he just continued to walk.

"Cut!" Trisha heard Bob shout and she turned back to the scene to see Rory and the other lads dismount from their horses, gripping to reigns and bringing the beautiful beasts to the minders.

"Trisha!" Bob called out to her, "Come."

She looked around one more time to see if Sandor was nearby, but he was out of sight. Concern pumped in her chest, but she came to the director. "Yes?" she asked and Bob looked up at her, "Ah, there you are. I just wanted to ask if you could take Sandor away from the shooting for a bit. We've got a scene coming up where he's supposed to find the farmer and his daughter from season 4 dead from the winter. He's supposed to feel guilt and regret from robbing them when he'd last seen them, and I don't know if he's gonna react badly to it or not.

"Either way, I don't want any surprises if he finds out... Actually, I want you to ask him what he remembers last from his world so we can track down where in the timeline he's up to date with," Bob spewed to her quickly and Trisha raised her brows at the amount of information he'd just given her.

"Uh, yeah, of course. He went for a walk but I'll find him in a beat," she told him with a thumbs up, turning on her heel to find the man who'd just stalked off.

Bob actually had a great point, they had no idea where he was in terms of the TV canon timeline and it would be a great help as to what he knows and/or what they'd have to keep away from him. It was still unclear to her if George had any inclination to tell Sandor about his fate, as he was the only true person to know. Then again, was that an ethical thing to do? Would that be what Sandor wants? Would it even be beneficial to anyone to tell him his truth?

What Trisha really wanted to do was have a private talk with George to discuss some topics about Sandor.

She knows for sure that he wants to go back to Westeros, and why wouldn't he? This is a strange environment with insane technological advances, he isn't used to it and he probably never would be. A man like him is someone who is headstrong and reluctant to learn new things, especially to the scale that he would have to if he ever decided to stay. Decided. He wouldn't kill himself. He's too prideful to do that.

Would he beg someone to kill him? He seems to be above begging. He's too prideful to do that.

But then again, he begged Arya Stark to kill him after his brawl with Brienne of Tarth. Things are different now though, aren't they? And they were different then when he was on the verge of death and begging Arya to kill him. 

"Nice going there, Mr. One Take," Trisha said to Rory as he walked past her, lightly punching him on his fur-clad arm. He smirked and snickered, "It was the horses," he responded in his thick Scottish accent with a grin. She snickered as she watched him walk away as he and the rest of the crew migrated to the next shooting location, which wasn't that far away. It was a rock-throw away.

Trisha found herself weaving through the crowding crew members, searching for Sandor who had seemed to sulk away. That was an amusing thought. A big, reluctant giant whinging like a child out of pure boredom or out of pure spite.

"Sandor!" Trisha shouted out briefly after not being able to find him after a few minutes of searching, her heart beginning to race and panic beginning to set in her chest. "Oh God," she murmured to herself, spinning in circles to see a particular giant peaking over the crowd of the crew or lone in the ice desert around her.

 _I never should've let him walk off, what if something happened to him?_  she thought to herself trepidly. _Or_ , _more accurately, what if something happens to someone unfortunate enough to cross his path?_

"Shit..." She said aloud to herself, biting her lip with anxiety, a frown adorning her face as she continued to patter around the trailers, whipping around every corner to find him.

Suddenly, the young brunette girl froze on the spot as she heard a loud crash behind her which was coming likely the place where the new filming location was. The set for the Riverland farmers house. She hoped to God that Sandor didn't happen to stumble upon it. To her, his reaction was unpredictable. Hopefully, he wouldn't be angry, he seemed to be the careless type. Or hopefully, it was just a prop accident, maybe some heavy machinery toppled over and created that barrage of noise.

She turned with bated breath and saw that she was right, a trailer with a lot of equipment had toppled over from a jagged, white rock that almost seemed invisible until someone bent down to rub the rock, revealing a dark grey stone peaking out from beneath the snowy surface.

Her mini heart attack was beginning to subside, but she was wondering... If it wasn't Sandor that made that huge noise, then where was he?

Trisha turned on her feet again and ran behind the vacant trailers to see Sandor sitting on a large, smooth rock, staring out into the open desert.

"Oh, there you are," Trisha huffed, bending over to place her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "What of it, girl? Can't you give me some damn peace," he grunted angrily, flaring his nostrils in annoyance.

The young girl rolled her eyes and tucked her hands under her arms, hopping on the spot to maintain some warmth. "Well, you wandered off without telling me where you were going so I had to come and look for you," she told him in an equally annoyed tone, he seemed to notice her stiff and shivering posture and softened a little bit, glancing at her with a raised brow then back to the open, icy nothingness.

"We should be finished soon then we can go back to the hotel and just... I don't know, drink, I guess," she told him with a stuttering jaw, "And I suppose you can go back to your room and do whatever."

"We should've stayed there in the first fucking place. No furs or anything to keep us warm except for those cocksuckers back there with all the cloaks while I'm over here freezing my balls off," he snarled and sniffled, sitting on his rock like a lion leading his pride.

Trisha ignored his complaint and moved slowly to sit behind him on the rock, making sure not to rouse him. She wondered where his softer self had gone, the one side of him that had apologized to her at the jazz lounge, the side of him that bit his tongue and admitted to her that he thought she was brave, where had that side gone? His forever changing mood would sway her world for the worst, she swore it.

As she sat there behind him on his rock, his warmth radiating off of him, she was beginning to think that maybe he was bipolar. It was a bit of a stretch, but not  _that_ far of a stretch. She recalled the moments where he would be gentle with the Stark girls then be rude to them a minute later. That was just even more evidence piling on to her suspicions.

"We'll go back to the trailers and wait for them to finish," Trisha offered quietly, turning around on the rock to face in his direction. A pregnant pause passed and Sandor finally stood to his feet, Trisha quickly followed his suit and they walked together back to the clump that was trailer town in search of warmth.

"I know it's silly to ask this-"

"Then don't ask," Sandor replied firmly.

Trisha sighed and jogged to catch up to him, "I mean I want to ask you something that might be quite pointless,"

"Then don't ask, woman."

The young girl rolled her eyes at his abrasiveness, "Do you know if there are any instances that may have occurred with a person of... magical expertise? Someone you may have angered, someone that may want to do something as heinous teleporting you to an alternate region?"

Trisha cringed at the wording of her question, knowing his answer would be something blunt and rude. 

"I don't fucking know, woman. Now would you shut up and let me walk in peace?" he stated frankly, looking at her with annoyance before picking up his speed.

"Hey Trisha," Kevin quipped cheerfully and Trisha only had the energy to plop down next to him on the couch in one of the vacant trailers. "Woah, you okay?" Kevin asked her, his tone laced with concern.

She sighed and leant on his waiting shoulder, pouting and thinking about the inevitable. "I've been dreaming about Sandor," she admitted quietly and she could feel Kevin slowly nodding. "That's... A little weird, but it's not that weird unless it's-"

"It's sexual. It's also weirdly sensual, like really weirdly sensual," she added, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"Okay," Kevin paused, "That's a little weird but the links between dreams and real life are hazy. And though it may be a bit weird, it's not as weird as the fact that he's, like, existing right now somehow."

Strangely, Kevin's opinion was calming. "I don't even know why I told you that. It's probably just the hectic past few days but I might actually be going crazy. Like actually," Trisha groaned, Kevin only nodded and listened.

"I apologize in advance if I spew any details about my Sandor related dreams in the future, I promise it's not on purpose," she mumbled on his shoulder and he sighed, patting her back comfortingly.

"It's okay," he replied.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, sweet 8% bubbly. What will you bring to Trisha today?

The day on set had gone by smoothly. No more accidents had occurred and Sandor was out of the way when the shooting at the Farmer's set had proceeded, so the workday had passed through like a quick breeze.

At the hotel, everyone was getting ready to go to the pride of this town, the local pub Golden Trident. Rory agreed to help watch Sandor while they were at the pub so she could at least enjoy a bit of free time without the burden of babysitting a bored beast. Trisha was reluctant, not wanting to inhibit Rory's own free time but he insisted he was okay with it.

In her own room, Trisha was putting on a black turtle neck to cover the scar on her neck which was healing quickly but was irritating when she'd move her head too far in a certain direction. She decided on a black silk pleated skirt which she admitted made her legs look nice, she also admitted she'd risk the cold just to feel good in the way she looked.

Black platforms and socks, black winter coat and some golden jewellery completed her look, she admired herself in the mirror and felt happy with the way she looked for the first time in a long time. Trisha was hoping to catch the eye of any cute guy that crossed her way, maybe flirt for a bit and have a drink then head back to the hotel by herself. It seems like a good and simple plan.

With one last evaluation, she exited her room and placed her keycard into a small black shoulder bag checking to see if she had all her necessities. Phone, keys, small portable phone charger, and gum. Regrettably, she spotted her packet of cigarettes which also encased her lighter. It was a bit too late to put it back in her room so she turned to leave the corridor and was startled.

"Oh my God," she screeched, clutching at her chest and feeling the race of her heartbeat. "Settle down, woman," Sandor rolled his eyes at her outburst. He'd only been standing outside her door for... 4 minutes.

"Jesus Christ, why didn't you say something?" she scowled at him, reorganizing her clothes. "Change your clothes, it's too cold out there," Sandor said to her, ignoring her question.

"What? No, this is fine-"

"No it's not," he argued, grabbing her arm "Change."

Trisha glared at him and ripped her arm out of his hold. "I'm fine with what I'm wearing. If you're not, then you can look away and mind your own business," she sassed him, not fully aware of the attitude she was giving him. No guy had ever said something like this to her, it was always something she'd see in movies and scoff at because of the ridiculousness of it all.

Sandor huffed through his nose, his eyes engaged with hers for a few moments before he tore them away and walked towards the elevator. Trisha let out a sigh of relief and felt a bit self-conscious due to the outcome of that short, bitter argument.

The elevator ride was quiet and awkward, Sandor looking anywhere but at Trisha.  _Does this outfit make me look like the office mattress?_ she asked herself,  _I sure hope not... He can't even look at me. I don't even know why he's so pressed! Aren't there thousands of bare women from where he's from? Why is this one outfit annoying him so?_

As Trisha continued to question her outfit and Sandor's opinions, the elevator door opened to reveal a parade of the cast and crew in some casual wear, ready for the short trek to the Golden Trident.

"Trisha! You look great," Richard cheered, stepping forward to embrace her in a warm hug, "You ready?" he asked her and she nodded in response, a wide grin on her face.

"As ready as ever," she told him and he offered his arm to her, which she linked with her own. Someone stalked up behind her and said, "I've got this one," it was Rory. Trisha turned her head to see Rory swinging his arm around Sandor's shoulders, to which he immediately shrugged off and said: "The fuck are you doing?"

Rory laughed and instead opted to raise his hands in surrender, "Relax, come with me," he told him and the twins walked off together in their own direction.

"Come along then, love," Richard said to her with a smile, "Come along I will."

And off the GoT pack went, all walking together to the Golden Trident which was only a couple hundred meters away which was very convenient who those who planned on getting decently drunk.

Once the doors to that pub opened, everyone cheered and soon enough the drinks were flowing. Everyone swarmed to their respective areas. Some went straight for the booths with their jugs of beer, others lined the bar and the playful bunch found themselves around the pool tables. From the pool table in the corner, Trisha saw that Rory had put Sandor in a stool next to him at the bar, they were both hunched over the mugs in an identical fashion which made her giggle.

"Alright Trisha, looks like you and Kevin are stripes, Paul and I are solids," Richard informed them and Kevin hiccupped, responding with a cheeky "Yeah, solid poos."

"Sweet burn, Kevin," Trisha said while patting his back. He bowed to her and snorted, "Thank you, madam."

Trisha laughed and applied the chalk to the tip of her cue stick, bending over the table with her eye concentrated on her ball of choice.

"Geez, would you look at the ass on that one?" a drunkard fool spluttered aloud, his drunken words falling on the ears of a very disinterested Sandor. He'd been abandoned by Rory who had left to the bathroom... Another wonder that Westeros could find very useful.

"I don't care," Sandor murmured, lifting his mug off the countertop and chugging the rest of his drink in a single motion, signalling to the bartender for a refill.

"She's pretty isn't she?" the drunk man continued to spout.

Sandor rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at who the drunkard was so enamored with. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, annoyed that he was the target of ear abuse.

"Oh, I just have quite the affinity for pretty little things," the drunk man answered, wiping the drool off his chin with his drenched sleeve. Sandor scowled at the filthy state of the man.

"A reckless mutt like yourself ought to stay away from pretty things," Sandor said to him, taking a gulp of beer down with his breath.

"My friend," the drunkard chuckled, "I'm not your friend," Sandor stated frankly. "My friend, the only thing that's gonna be reckless here is my tongue on her tight little cunt," the drooling fool slapped Sandor's back with a blubbering guffaw.

Sandor grunted in distaste, "Touch me again and I'll rip your fucking head off," he grumbled lowly to the drunk man who quickly raised his hands in defense.

"Are you always such a grumpy dog?" the drunkard asked Sandor who only glared in return, "Okay, tough guy," the drunkard rolled his eyes. "I'm going to get myself a slice of that  _sweet_ little cherry pie," he slobbered one last time before stammering to his feet.

Sandor swallowed the rest of his drink, content with his newly found freedom from that blubbering, drunken fool. Sandor's eyes soon found themselves following the man around the bar, watching as he tripped up multiple times on his twisted path to who he soon discovered was the young girl he found himself to be acquainted with, Trisha.

Without so much as a warning, Sandor saw the drunk man's hand rear back and slap Trisha's arse, roughly groping her butt cheek which caused her to jump back in surprise. Something ignited deep in Sandor and it made him stomp out of his stool, pushing anything and anyone that was in his way.

"Well aren't you a pretty little bird?" the drunk man grinned, revealing his yellowing teeth which immediately settled even more disgust in Trisha.

Richard, Kevin, and Paul were about to step in and deal with the man until Sandor swept in and grabbed the drunk man by his collar, dragging him out of the pub. The drunken fool was loudly spluttering and clutching at his neck to relieve the pressure that was placed on his neck by his collar, his feet kicking at the ground.

The sight horrified Trisha, who couldn't seem to move from her place next to the pool table. Everyone seemed to filter outside to see what Sandor was doing to the man, everyone but her.

She heard loud punching, groaning and yelling, her eyes shut but all she could see was an enraged Sandor pounding at the smaller man's face with his fists. "What's going on? Where is everyone?" She heard someone say and she opened her eyes to see Rory, who was zipping up his pants.

"I was in the bathroom then heard a scuffle," he added then stopped talking once he noticed Trisha's shaking. "Wait, where's..." Rory began to say then he pieced the clues together and he was running outside to the commotion. Trisha was shaking in the spot, her eyes watering and her legs threatening to give out below her. The memory of the slap still stinging the flesh of her buttock, a reminder of what had just occurred.

"Stop," she said, "Stop."

She slowly stepped closer to the door, her chest rumbling and her feet tingling. "Stop," she said louder but no one could hear her over the noise of the scuffle and shouts from the onlookers.

"Stop, stop, stop," she said again, pushing through the crowd to see Richard and Rory trying to pull Sandor off of the drunk man who now laid unconscious in a pool of blood. Richard and Rory both had each of Sandor's arms, but that didn't stop him from kneeing the dazed man in the gut. "I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!" Sandor roared, spitting on the drunk man's bloodied face.

"I said  _ **stop it!**_ " Trisha screamed like she never had before, getting everyone to quiet down and turn to look at her.

Sandor immediately looked up at her and saw just how shaken up she was at the sight of the commotion. He looked back down at the man below him, his face was bruised and puffy,  the skin laden with cracks and cuts. Sandor looked at his own hands and saw the split knuckles and how they were drenched in his blood and the blood of the man beneath him. He stood to his feet with the help of Richard and Rory and he looked around at all the people who were watching.

Trisha went back into the pub and Kevin quickly followed her.

"Are you okay?" Kevin asked her, watching as she put her coat back on and swung her shoulder bag over her head. "Walk with me," she said to him with a sniffle, grabbing his arm and sneaking behind the crowd to leave the area.

When she was sure they were alone in the streets, she stopped and cried into his chest, hugging him tightly. "Shh, shh, it's okay, you're okay," Kevin comforted her, rubbing her back gently and swaying with her in the streets. She couldn't believe what just happened. The night started off great. The drinks were flowing, laughs were being shared, games were played but that drunk just had to ruin it.

Trisha easily could've played that off by having him escorted out by the bartender, but Sandor took it to an extreme. It was far too extreme. For all she knows, she could've been looking at a dead man in that street. And he did that just for her, to... protect her. If you could even call that protecting. She didn't want any of it, she didn't want that near-murder. 

She asked herself where it would go from here, after what she just saw him do to that foolish man.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! So, I'd also like to mention the fact that I haven't read all of the books, but I'm just about halfway through them and I am in LOVE.
> 
> I really loved the idea of someone that worked on the set of the show to suddenly encounter the real Sandor and deal with the challenge of having this fictional character being taken out of the screen and helping them to integrate into real, modern life. Also, because I watched the show prior to reading the books, a lot of the action taking place in this story will be taken from the show.


End file.
